A Star In A Sea Of Darkness, Darkness In A Sea Of Stars
by AKJSNA
Summary: After the Governor attacked the prison, the only person left in Daryl's shitstorm of a life was Judith. For Daryl, it's enough. Until he met her. Daryl x OC
1. Not The Fathering Type

Hi guys! First time posting on Fanfiction for a while. I know, I know, I live under a rock. Anyway, this is the first chapter of a complete fic I've written. I'll be posting every Thursday and Sunday. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

This is a real slow burn. I hate it when OCs and Mr. Dixon meet, get it on, then fall in love all in the same week. Like, seriously, it's the freaking zombie apocalypse. Priorities people.

Warnings for the violence, emotional and physical trauma and the language. It is Daryl after all.

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In retrospect, he was not the fathering type.

Daryl made peace with that, an affirmation he conceeded to a long time ago with his own father. If Will Dixon was supposed to be his role model for what real men were like, then who the fuck was he to know the first thing about good parenting.

Kids needed time, constant watch, round the clock care. You couldn't just pack up and leave them when you were tired of playing house. They were a permanent deal.

He bolted the door shut, heaving a wardrobe infront of it before sitting beside the bundle. Judith was wrapped up, her blanket muddy, sleeping on an armchair he found. He cradled her gently before sitting himself on the chair, his crossbow by his feet. His legs ached, his face was swollen, his hands blistered from the overuse of his crossbow. He looked at her and swallowed roughly.

The prison was done, there was no going back to that. No one to go back there for. The walls were broken, walkers roamed at every corner, and his people, his family, were gone. Dead or worse.

Fuck if he'd ever see them alive again, if he'd ever see them at all.

He came back to that place and there was nothing left to save and it damn near killed him then and there. He had walked away in a haze, purposeless and hollow, his stomache sick at the conclusion that he lost more in his life after the world went to shit than before. It was a desolate revelation, soul crushing. Then, between the tides of his impending melancholy, between the underbush and the trees, between the monotonous groan of the living corpses, he heard her crying.

He never ran so fast before in his entire life. She was a sight among the wilderness. Covered in dirt, her blanket over her head, and there a few feet beside her lay Tyresse and those two girls from the prison. Walkers were dead everywhere, scattered like confetti on the forest floor as the she cried.

He finished the job. Scoped the girl in his arms and bolted. After about an hour he found a motel. Baby aside it didn't take long to clear; he raided it for what little food they had and claimed a room.

The patter of rain grew from a soft thudding to a screach as the thunder rolled, the droplets hitting the window in the far side of the room hard. She stirred, her tiny arms springing up and curling out as the storm disturbed her. He didn't know what to do, all he had was base instinct. He picked her up, body fidgeting, and did the only thing he could think of. He rocked her, awkward and slow, uncomfortable with the way her mouth gawked in a mumbled whine.

She began to gurgle. Wetness from her eyes trickled down her face as the thunder grew, the clouds like crashing cymbals as they met in embrace. He rocked her, hushed her, paced from one end to the other, but her crying carried on thick. Her voice was an accompaniment to the rain's shrill waves of noise. She wasn't letting up, her big eyes red and teary, and her hands squished against her plump cheeks in dedicated protest.

He shook his head, rocking harder. His chest palpitated, the crying scratched against his thoughts, each sound a detailed statement of his ineptitude. She wouldn't shut up. He held her closer to him, held her so close her head was by his head but all she did was cry.

What was he doing?

The fuck was he doing?

He brought her down, her wriggling body looking right at him rouged and swollen, and the longer he looked at her the deeper in shit he realized he was in. He was no father. He was no Rick or Hershel, no nurturing mother hen. He didn't know the first thing about looking after a child. Hell, he just about knew how to look after himself.

As if in agreement she kept crying. She kept crying and crying and crying. She barely drew breathe inwards, it was any wonder how her little lungs could expel such distress in constant supply.

What the hell had he done? What the hell was he meant to do? How was he supposed to look after a kid in a world like this? Alone? Without help? Without an inkling of guidance?

He could leave her.

The thought whispered soft within himself. He swallowed thick as he let himself consider it. It sunk hard in his gut as the guilt weighed heavy on him. He almost shook his head to protest, almost believed the action would eliminate the idea as a whole.

No. It wasn't an option for debate. He could never abandon a baby, a child. His friend's or otherwise. It wasn't right, human.

She cried on and on.

The noise crippled him. He felt his moral cracking with every decibel she uttered and tear she spilt. He looked at her, he'd had enough.

"Stop."

She whimpered, her nose making little bubbles of snot as she banged her tiny fists on Daryl's arms. He sighed and brought her head to his chest, patting her back in repeated motions. His hand tapped her gentle, the palms soothing her in circular motions between every cautious pat. She struggled against him, moaned and snivelled as he kept at it.

"Shhh." he said his chin resting by her face, "Shhh now. 'S a bit o' rain. Be o'er in a bit. Shhh, you're goin' be fine. Nothin' goin' get you while I'm here, you hear? Shhh now."

He circled the room, his hand on the back of her head. She grew still, her cries muffled against his shirt. He rubbed the back of her head.

"There's a good girl." he whispered, "Be o'er soon. Here with ya darlin'. Shhh. It's you an' me now. 'S alright, shhh. Just you and me, you and me now."

It was terrifying. True but terrifying. Those few moments he alone when he went back to prison were the wort moments he'd ever experienced in his life. This was almost as bad. This debilitating isolation. What was he without the people he protected? Without his family and friends?

Did he exisit if there wasn't a reason for him to? If there weren't people that knew of him, cared for him? All those people he had tried to save, Merle, Andrea, Hershel, they were gone. All the people in the prison were gone. He only mattered to them and they were gone and he was alone, so was there even a point anymore?

All that was left was Judith.

Judith, who had no one left but him.

He looked at her and bit his lip when he felt the unwelcomed sting of forming tears blur his vision. He shook his head, taking his free hand and wiping them away quick. It was suffocating, all of it, everything, it was suffocating.

The rumble of thunder crackled above them. He placed his hand back on her head only to find that she was asleep. Her tiny red lips parted, her hands curled into balls that clung onto his shirt. He sat himself back on the armchair, his strong arms her cradle, and he let himself break, if only for a moment.

He was silent. The last time he cried, Merle was a few feet in front of him licking innards off of his lips with a hole through his chest cavity. This time was different, cathartic.

A year and a half of pent up frustration and trauma and rage ached within him for realse. A year and a half of unresolved loss. Now, for the first time since it started he was quiet by himself. He had no reason to keep his guard up so high.

So he cried. He was quiet, so not to disturb her. It had taken a lot to get her sleeping and he'd be damned if his little pity party woke her up again.

He was tears. He was scared. He wiped his dripping nose with his tattered flannel sleeve and looked at the sleeping baby. The revelation was hard hitting. It was true non the less.

"Ya'll I got left, Judith, " he said, "Ya'll I've got left."


	2. Lesser Of Two Evils

Hey everyone! Thanks for the follows and reviews last chapter, got me all warm and fuzzy inside! You guys rock! Anyway, here's the next one! Full of Daddy Daryl and Baby Judith goodness! Let me know what you think!

Next update will be on Thursday! Well,if I can wait that long!

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Light filtered through the car window, the rays spilled on Daryl's face in streams. He blinked, moving his hand upwards as he stretched his legs as far as he could, his feet hitting the car door as he felt his bones click. He sat up straight, a hand through his shaggy hair, waking a sleeping Judith in the process. Large eyes blinked to life, her one cheek red from sleeping on her face all night.

Daryl cocked a half smile, a hand patting her blonde curls. She smiled back, her mouth a gumless cresent of gurgling as she babbled to him. She always babbled now, it was her current faze. He would catch the occassional word or sound, but it was mostly an incoherent flow of noise and gestures.

It was fucking adorable. Merle would roll in his grave if he ever outright admitted it, but it was pretty damn precious. The little rascal was the pinnacle of cute, and he was human enough to think it.

She sat on his lap, her eyes dropping a little as the initial morning conversation died from her. He nudged her softly as he reached over to his rucksack. He fished out an apple, cut it open with his knife and brought it to his mouth. His teeth mushed it into consumamble pieces and he fed them to her, piece by piece, bits of fruit stuck to his long fingers.

She was fussy. Her face pushed away from his persistent hand with a few gurgles of disapproval. He eyed her, giving her a look she knew better than to challenge and ate without further complaint. He figured she was hungry, it had been a while since he managed to scrape anything substainale for her to eat.

Baby and squirrel did not agree. Baby and most foods didn't agree either. He was glad her teeth were coming in because it was a matter of time before their luck ended. He had to raid every shop and house for babyfood, and it was near suicidal at times.

Almost a year had passed since life at the prison, a year which had not been easy for them. There were too many close shaves, too many could've, should've, didn'ts. Judith was like having a handicap at a golf game, except instead of missing par from a bad swing, you were fighting walkers with a baby strapped to your chest, food flung across your back and a crossbow in you arms.

He knew it was wrong, but there were days when he wished he got stuck with Carl instead. It wasn't like the lesser of two evils or any of that, but at least the kid could run on his own. He was prepubescent though. Daryl knew he didn't have the time nor the patience to give a shit about a hormonal teenager.

Judith shat, sleept and ate. She could walk by herself and she just started talking. He didn't need to be a genius to handle that, she practically handled herself. Give it another couple of years and he figured she'd be able to keep up with him on her own.

He wiped bits of fruit from her mouth, using a baby wipe to clean her face and hands before changing her diaper. He was running low on her supplies. He was going to have to go on a raid soon.

She lay on her back in the backseat of the car as he packed away. For the shit they were both in she was always smiley. She cried often enough, that was a given, but when they were safe she was never silent or sniveling.

He was happy about that. They didn't have much, but he did whatever he could to make her comfortable, to give her the best chance of growing up in this fuck fest of a life. She was all he had left now, and he put more care than he liked thinking about in keeping her alive.

Some would argue too much. He'd tell them to fuck off. If Judith left him it would be the end of him for sure, so it didn't matter either way what people thought. His sanity alone depended on her.

"'Bout time we left this rust bucket." He flung the rucksack on his back, "Whatya say to that, huh?"

She just looked at him, that same happy stupid look plastered on her face. She was going to melt hearts one day. Fuck, she was melting hearts now.

He held her to his chest so her body was close to his side, making a makeshift sling from a long scarf he knicked a while back. She didn't talk much when she was on the sling. She knew better than to make noise when they were outside.

He wondered if she dreamt of walkers. She'd seen enough of them to last both thier lifetimes. He was about to leave the car when he heard shuffling.

He bent himself down, his arms like steel as he gripped his crossbow in one hand and covered Judith's head in the other. The bag sunk down heavy on his back as he peered through the windscreen at the passerby.

Not a walker. A woman, a youngster, with a hikerpack of supplies that put his to shame. She walked past the road, heading away from the cars and through the forest on the otherside, her load of goods stacked high as she lugged it along.

He waited a few minutes. Daryl's eyes fixated on where the lone stranger passed. No one else came. Judith struggled against him.

He gripped the handle of his crossbow. She was alone with supplies. One twenty-something in the forest during the day was piss compared to a herd.

He got out of the car his vigilance second nature to him and followed her through the wood. Judith didn't make a sound. She never did on a hunt.


	3. People Ruin Everything

Hey guys!

As promised, one chapter! Hope you're all doing well, I cannot wait to start my weekend! Anyway, I'm introducing the OC here. Chapters from this point on will alternate from her's and Daryl's perspective. Enjoy it and thanks again for all the reviews, follows and love, you're awesome ^\\\^ ️ ️ ️

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Sometimes it was enough to forget it all.

The trickle of a stream. The crunch of the leaves beneath her feet. The smell of the moss that clung on the trees. The world was still here and sometimes it was enough.

Most times, it wasn't.

Most times it was a fist to the face, a reminder of how primative everything was now. There would be moments, the dead between the woods, trees stood high as abandoned buildings crumbled around them, that she would view the contrast as humanity's biggest defeat. The world lay unchanged, but the civilisation was no more.

Now, was not one of those moments.

Now, setting distilled from the chaos around them, it was calm.

It reminded her of life before. Made her wonder whether during humanity's highest point everything was as still. Whether the world, the natural world, was as relaxed.

She knealt by the stream, filled her bottle with water and wet her face, basking in the temporary calm. Moments like these were few. She had planned her journey with meticulous presicion, but she wasn't stupid, she didn't expect it to be smooth. There was always an error, a hiccup. A herd of rabid undead or an obstruction in a path, or worse, people.

People always ruined everything. She, like all of those surviving, learnt that the hard way. Life in this new world was a cruel one. One best chartered alone.

She stuck the water in a pouch in the side of her bag, noting that she needed to filter it when she had the chance. On foot it would take her a half day due east to get to the freeway. If she made pace, she could find someplace safe to spend the night.

A sound stopped her thoughts.

A rustle and then a snap.

Her eyes darted to the disturbance, her hand on her knife hilt, her other one patting at the gun she hid under shirt. She remained still. Even her breathing shallowed to a slow circulation of inhales to exhales.

One. Two. Three. No movement. No sound. She stood up, waiting another second before she crept towards the noise.

She was many things. A talentless tracker, one of them. The apocolypse had forced her to grow some sense of direction, but that was the most of it. She bent down by the bushes for a better look, a stick tordden in two, but nothing else of any kind around.

She didn't get the chance to question it further.

"Drop the bag."

People.

People ruined everything.

Fuck.

She didn't turn right away. She got up slow, her back to her assailant. Her hand pressed to her sides, palms ghosted by her concealed knife. She twisted to get her bag off of her shoulders but the act was interupted.

"Don' turn round." her hand stayed on the strap, "Drop it."

She stood straight ahead once more. She didn't hear anyone else. That didn't mean there weren't others, but a group wouldn't sneak and steal from one person if they had the numbers to just waltz in and take what they wanted.

This thief was alone. That didn't soothe her. When you're surviving on your own you have less to lose.

The bag dropped with a soft thud, splashes of mud painted the backs of her soiled heels. He went to pick it up, she knew whatever weapon he had on her was still on her. The pack was dragged behind her, the contents examined from the sounds of apparent shuffling.

Fingers grazed the tops of the knife hilt. She would die without those supplies. Dying now, dying after everything, there was no greater waste than that.

She was alone.

She had nothing to lose.

Back, in the old world, she lacked grace. She wasn't clumsy per say, she just didn't incorporate finesse in her actions. It was about effiency rather than style with her.

But this, this was like ballet.

Grip of the handle, twist of her back and one swift punch piroeted her forward in a lunge. He staggered back as the knife handle kissed his face, the cold steel pounded the skin from his cheek across to the bridge of his nose. He flinched back, weapons dropped in abandon from the unanticipated hit. She grabbed the pack and ran, trying to put it on as she dodged past him.

A sharp tug. She fell. He pulled at the bag, her arms looped within it, and dragged her in his attempt to get it off. A boot kicked the pack off of her, the straps rubbing against her exposed arms, the friction burning. She rolled face first into the dirt, spitting as the mud made her way to her mouth. There was a scurry, the stranger walk-running to what appeared to be a crossbow.

Her hand was on the gun, the trigger squeezed, the bullet in his back before she felt the Forty-Nine between her palms.

The shot was sullen, the caw of the gunshot shrill and sure. The man fell. His body titled to the side as gravity stacked above him.

She stared at him, sick. He didn't move right away, a choked wheezing audible as he realised what she'd done to him. Nearly three years in this new world and the first time she'd shot a man that didn't want to eat her brains for lunch. She wasn't accustomed to her victims moving straight after.

It made the contrast from her past self all the more apparent to her now.

She hated it.

He groaned, his own body in confused tremors. He twisted, his frame facing her, and she saw it as she took him in for the first time. Hair a dark long mess hiding his blue eyes as he looked at her in horror, strong arms still pulling him to the crossbow, whilst one hand shielded the view of a bundle.

A bundle that now cried.

Her own eyes widened. That was a baby. A baby, crying, in the middle of the woods, strapped to a man she just shot.

Her balance wasn't settled as she staggered up, gun in hand and pointed at him as she walked towards him. He pushed himself upwards, pain undeniable from the strained features of his thin face. He pulled out his own knife and made a lunge for her, staggering in the process as he tried to establish space between them.

The baby was still crying.

It's head was covered in blood. She questioned whether the damage she inflicted on him hurt the child, the idea bringing hot bile to her throat. There was a wildness in them both, a feral quality she'd never seen before as he stood in a pained stance, ready to do his damnedest.

Which, all things considered, wouldn't be all that damn. There wasn't much time left for him. She spoke before deciding her next move.

"Drop the knife."

"Go to hell."

An unaccustomed timidity pooled within her. She broadened her stance. Her voice clearer.

"Look, there's a camp, mile and a half from here-"

"Go," He was pale, perspiration erupted from his forehead, "Leave."

Her gaze hardened. The baby cried. He swayed.

"You don't have much time, let me help you."

"Fuck you." He went for her again, knife coming close before she she took two massive steps back from him, "Leave."

She didn't answer.

Instead, She shot again.

He ducked, movement excruciating but she didn't care. A few feet behind him lay a now dead infected. Three more ran to them and she shot another. The man bolted for his crossbow, injury forgotten, or rather put aside, as he grabbed one in the process and stabbed it in the head with his knife. A couple more appeared behind her, his skilled hands on the polished crossbow, arrows silent and precise as they pierced through the remaining skulls of their latest problem.

They waited for more to show, their fight on pause as their safety hung in the balance. After a half minute she turned to him, sticking her weapons away and walking to him open palmed.

He had his crossbow ready and aimed at her, despite the prevalent sweat slipping down his forhead. If he wanted to he could kill her, could avenge himself for the pain she caused. The baby was still crying. His shirt rouged, the perforated skin of his weeping bullet wound colouring the torn fabric.

She looked at him, his own gaze matched her marble faced one. He stood there, like stone, tall and dying.

That fucking baby was going to get them all killed.

"I can help you."

"Fuckin' done enough."

She pointed at the child, "You're going to die like this, and then what happens next?"

There was no point in skirting the truth. He was sweating a lot. It was unnatural, just how much sweat was coming from him. His eyes floated down to the baby.

She spoke again.

"You die and I swear to God you've got your baby's blood in your hands."

"Fuck you, ya shot me."

"And now I'm going to help you. Lower your weapon."

"Ain't got no reason t' trust you."

"I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm telling we can help you."

There wasn't much fight left in him. There hadn't been for a while. Still, he managed to hold that heavy crossbow. It wasn't as high as it had been a few seconds ago, but he still carried it aimed and ready.

"How'd I know ya ain't goin' t' kill us both?"

He was fading. His words were thick, southern drawl almost incomprehensible from the pain.

"If I wanted you both dead I'd have botled by now."

She was being quiet unforgiving, all things considered. She held herself, her stance mimicked his to a tee. He lowered the crossbow, leaning on it heavily as he let the pain take him, if only for a moment. She hurried, helping him shrug off his pack and looking at the wound up close. He tensed up when she got near him, a clear sign that he did not want her within touching distance of him or his baby.

But his legs were about to buckle so he'd just have to fucking deal.

She wasn't a doctor, but she couldn't find an exit wound and she knew it was just a matter of minutes before he went into shock. It was an hour and a half to the Base on foot. There were the cars on the road a few minutes away but who knew if they had any gas?

He was trying to shush the baby, his words slurring. The baby, the little girl, snivelled as he tried his best to appear normal. He turned to her, his breathing wheezey.

"The pack stays."

She blinked, "Excuse me?"

"My pack, it stays with me."

"You're not carrying that pack."

"I'm not leaving without it."

Matters of life and death made people screw their priorities. She didn't argue, she just stuffed it on her back, trying to think. He hushed the child and was bent over, his body straining to hold itself. She helped him stand straight, lugging the heavy crossbow on her one shoulder, and supporting him on the other.

She did not have the strength to pull him for long. She didn't have the strength to carry everything and pull him now. Dwelling on it was pointless, so she let her panic take her on autopilot, her body crippling, and lead them through the forest to the road.

Before she had a chance to check each car for gas, he pointed at a dusty red Ford Focus three cars down. She didn't ask how he knew the car had gas, nor did she care. If she punched it she could make it back in fifteen minutes through the main road bypassing the forest route she took.

She made it to the Base in ten. A man at the gate rushed down when he saw her jumping out of the car and calling for help.

"Brooke?" it was Franklin, "The hell is going on?"

"This man was shot in the back, he's got a baby, we need to help him."

A few of the others ran out. Franklin, pulled him out with her. They lugged him through the gate, her hand on the baby's head as they got him to Walt's.

"Who shot him?"

Brooke looked the older man straight in the face.

"I did."


	4. She Got Ya Played

Hey!

Happy Mother's Day to my British homies! Here's a chapter to celebrate! Thanks for all the follows and reviews and love, you little cuties ;)

Anyway, here's the chapter! Next update is on Thursday! ❤️❤️❤️

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The last time Daryl woke up in a strange room, head throbbing, mouth dry and with no recolection of the day prior, was the weekend before the world went to shit.

This wasn't some crappy shack in the middle of Georgia, though. No; this was nicer, warmer. He flickered his eyes open, everything unfocused as his hapless vision engulfed him with his surroundings.

He was laying on a bed, his clothes removed, his torso wrapped in tight bandages and his arm connected to an IV drip. An attempted shuffle left him in great pain. His body unable to move in the slightest without a burning agony coming from his stiff back.

He sucked in a breath, tears stinging his eyes as he tried once again to move himself upwards. It was no use, the harmed nerve endings burst to life. Pain, unforgiving and prevalent, injected itself into his muscles. He slumped back, gripped the sheets in the process, waiting for the excruciation to subside.

It didn't, not fully. It eased enough to centre himself, but it was there. Quiet but present.

He didn't know where he was. He was injured. Judith was out of his sight, the first time in well over a year that he wasn't near her. It panicked him, his paternal instinct, the one he tried not to think about, screaming at him to find her.

Now.

Right this very second.

He scanned the room, his head still pounding like an out of tune mariache band, his vision still unclear. A light thudding of steps made their way to his bed and in an attempt to move away, to attain someform of self preservation, he shifted himself further from the bedside.

The pain was worse than the two times before, like white hot knives stabbing his every neuron. The fire in his back settled once again to a specific spot on his left side, and he remembered being shot. The memory itself was not clear, the events following a fog, but he remembered the sensation. Like a hot iron poker stabbing his torso.

"You shouldn't move, it'll make the pain worse."

He titled his head towards the noise, his gaze settling by the far left side of the bed, a few feet from the door. It was a man. Short, skinny, large round glasses on his small featured face. He had little tuffs of grey hair that sprouted on the sides of his head, they reminded Daryl of weeds. He stood there, smiling.

Daryl looked at his bandaged torso, before going against his advice and moving once more. His act of rebellion, however, was too unbarable to even attempt. The man walked forward to him, his hands clasped together as he made his way to the foot of the bed.

"You've got off easy all things considered. You've suffered serious muscle damage and a broken rib, but we managed to get the bullet out completely."

Muscle damage and a broken rib. It'd be weeks until he could move, let alone carry a baby and a crossbow and supplies and fuck up walkers. He glanced around at the small room before looking at the man dead on.

"Got a name?"

The man gave him a tightlipped smile, "Walt. I'm the doctor here." he put his hands in his pockets, "And you are?"

"Sore." He said, "Where's the baby?"

"Brooke's with her."

The name was as good as nothing. He may as well have said Mickey Mouse and Kermit the Frog were with her, it made that much of a difference to him.

"Well can tell Brooke to bring her back."

He nodded, "She's just feeding her, she'll be back soon. She's been looking after her the last few days. You were in a critical condition until last night."

"I was shot."

"Yes. You were lucky."

"No shit." He winced, trying to shift upright and failing, "The fuck kind of place you got here anyway?"

Walt stepped away a moment, his one hand leaving his pocket and finding his face in contemplation. Daryl didn't get why he looked like he was giving it much thought. Either he tells him or he doesn't, it wasn't complicated.

"You were hurt pretty bad. Gave us all a scare."

Doesn't. He just looked at the stranger.

"You some kind of broken record?"

"More of a conversationalist."

"Well I ain't. The hell am I, and the hell is my baby?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"Both?"

"Where you are. Your baby is with Brooke."

The men looked at the other, Darly cocking a brow as the stinging pain made his stomach fall and the bile rise from his throat. He was not well, understatement of the apocalypse, but true all the same. His body was not going to be well for a long time.

He wouldn't be surprised if it was never quiet the same.

Walt walked around, his frame cat-like as he stood by Darly's bedside, towering over him. There was a lack of threat in the way he stood, whoever he was, he was not dangerous by nature. The way he moved, the way he spoke, he did so with an air of pasifism that was misplaced in this savage world.

Ten minutes with walkers and this man would be rotting in the bottomless gut of some undead bastard.

And they both knew it.

He checked on Daryl's fluids, his eyes glued on the task.

"Why don't you tell me how you ended up in the woods with Brooke?"

"She the girl that brought me here?"

"She's the girl, yes."

"Didn't ask her?"

"I wanted to hear what you had to say."

He grunted, he fucking yearned for a cigrette now, "Like I said, ain't no conversationalist."

His eyes paused on him. They were quiet, Daryl's eyes on the man as he carried on checking him. The effort he put in his care was gracious, it almost made him feel safe.

Almost. Experience told him not to be so naive. He couldn't help but feel safer here, even if he felt that safety was misplaced. He'd been to a few horror houses during his year with the baby, and people there weren't the types to nurse strangers that almost killed one of their own for supplies. He figured whatever place this was, it was civilised.

Sometimes civilised was the worst thing to be in this world.

Walt turned to him, the look on his face expectant of someone waiting for conversation. Daryl chose to ignore it. The stranger clamped his arms tight as he paused from Daryl's examination, his processing fractured by Daryl's lack of talk. The bed-ridden man looked around, familiarizing himself, and gave in.

"Where's my crossbow."

"We took your weapons. Don't worry, it's safe. You'll get it when you're better."

"And when's that exactly?"

He smiled at him, "Isn't that the million dollar question?"

He grabbed a stool hidden by the bedside table before peeling the blankets off of Daryl's front. His bandages were exposed, the pasty white fabric soiled by crusted blood.

"Any tenderness?"

"What do ya think?"

"How bad does the pain feel?"

"Like I been shot."

Walt took in a deep breath, his frustration chipping his cool frame, "Look son, I can't help you if you don't cooperate."

"I want to see the baby."

"I told you Brooke-"

"I know what ya said, get her here now."

Walt shook his head, a hand running through his sparce hair. If he wasn't in such pain Daryl would've felt at the very least grateful for the older man's trying. Yet until Judith was there all bets were off.

"I'll get her here soon, can you please let me examine you?"

He looked at him and attempted a semi shrugg before urging away, bored.

"Do whatever."

The man began unraveling his bandages. Daryl winced. Walt glanced up at him, his hands expert as he moved him to his side.

"You're a lucky one alright." he said, "You should've died that day."

"I'll get another chance ta." he squeezed his eyes shut as he felt him clean it, burning pain awful as the antiseptic killed any chance of infection and set his skin alight.

"You owe Brooke your life."

That made him snorted. Despite the unquestionable pain he found that scoff-worthy.

"Like hell I do. Bitch shot me."

He grunted as the doctor dabbed the rubbing alcohol hard on his exposed flesh. Daryl twisted his back, eyes rouged as he shot him a dirty glare. The man seemed unfazed.

"Don't you ever call her that again. She saved your life. She could've let you die there."

Daryl exahled a breath. In all fairness he did almost kill her for a bagpack. He bent his head down and chewed on his lip as the pain rolled in waves.

"You should thank her when you see her."

"Plan on it." he breathed out as the man wraped the bandages round him. He helped settle Daryl down, his touch gentle as he placed the blankets over him. He didn't move from the chair though.

"Thanks."

"It's fine, it's my job. I was a Red Cross trauma surgeon before this. Dealt with all sorts of people in conditions that were hardly ideal."

Daryl nodded. Lucky profession to get into before the world ended. That and military, figured that was why Merle made it as long as he did.

"What was Brooke doing in those woods?"

Daryl glanced at him, a brow raised, "You her father?"

"A friend. She and my nephew were very close."

Were. His nephew was out there pushing daisies and fertilising the earth then. By the look on Walt's face it was a recent occurrence.

"Dunno what she was doin'."

"Where did you bump into her?"

He frowned, whatever kind of interogation this was Daryl figured he clearly wasn't the focus.

"Thought you said you talked to her 'bout what happened."

"I did. Just checking facts."

That stinging pain on his back ached. Daryl let out a slow breathe.

"Met her on near Route 95 and East 9. Jumped her for her pack, she shot me, we fought a herd of walkers and right before I passed out she said she'd bring us here for help."

"Walkers?"

He rolled his eyes, "Them undead bastards."

He didn't care to nod in understanding, just went on with the questioning.

"Jumped for her pack? What do you mean?"

"Like I said."

"You tried to steal from her?"

"Yeah."

"You tried to *steal* from her."

"Got trouble hearin', 's like I said."

The doctor didn't know what to do with himself. He stood there, body fidgeting, hands unsure of their placement.

"What did you try to steal?"

"Her pack."

"She said she didn't have a pack."

"She had a pack."

"She said you guys meet a half mile away from here. Route 95 is a half hour drive away. At least."

"Could be, dunno where we are, 'member."

He couldn't help but feel the ghost of a smirk hint at his lips. He watched the man unravel the apparent lie Daryl hadn't been aware of. Walt took a deep breath.

"You did save her from a herd of roamers right, that's how you got shot."

Nope. He shook his head, the silence confirming his statement the longer it dwindled between them. Daryl broke it first.

"Sound like she said a lot of things."

Walt's eyes were on his, unblinking. Daryl couldn't hold back the snark in his face any more, his smirk unashamed. The older man stood up and made his way to the door, and against his better judgement Daryl spoke.

"That Brooke had you played."

The doctor left him, his words echoed between them like dust. Daryl looked around the room again, chewing on what little he got from what just happened. Eyes settled on a crib he spotted on the right side of the room and the discomfort of having Judith away grated on him.

He was in a place a half hour drive away from where he was before. It was a community. The girl that shot him, for some reason or another, he didn't care, fabricated a rather logical altnerative tale of how she both shot and met him.

He didn't know how to place that. He felt like she got him into a hell of a lot more shit than he anticipated, most of it unnecessary. He bit his lip contemplating whether the doctor's discovery on his verion of events was helpful rather than harmful.

It was too late now. He knew that much. What happened next to her wasn't his priority or concern, he just didn't want either him or Judith getting in shit for it.

He wasn't in a state to protect her and that alone was enough to set him on edge. The second he was well he'd be out. He had to be.


	5. Formalities Are What You Make Of Them

Hey Guys! Sorry for not updating earlier, forgot it was post day today!

Hope you enjoy this and thanks for the follows, reviews and favourites, YOU ALL ROCK! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

* * *

Brooke bobbed the baby on her knee, smiling despite herself at the sweet look she had on her face. The child was an optimist. She was always so happy which made Brooke's heart wretch at the sight of her.

How could a baby be this happy in a world this terrible? She was too skinny for her age, her teeth had just started coming through and she wasn't accustomed to walking very long on her own. Still, she was the chirpiest little thing in the compound. When Brooke thought about it, the fact that she had survived this long was extraordinary.

She took a breath, the soft smell of baby powder mixed thin among the earthy smell of the woods. They were out on the porch of her house, sat on the swinging bench, the leaves falling from the trees, the orange and yellow debris lay lazy on the ground. Here, the wooden fences sheltered them from the horrors that lay outside, the complex a supposed haven for the living.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt calm inside these walls. It was funny how something as normal as a baby sprung that sense of order with you. She imagined, just for a moment, that the circumstances were normal, that she was babysitting, that the world was back to what it was, her life was mundane and achingly normal, so much so she was looking after some other person's kid.

She didn't let herself live in the folly of illusion often. Dreaming lead to disappointment. When you long for the past you prison your future.

She didn't know she had her eyes closed until the shuffling of footsteps coming up to the house flutted them open. It was Franklin and Sylvia.

They contrasted each other like a bad version of Stevie Wonder's 'Ebony and Ivory'. Franklin was large and black, his beefy frame misinterperated for muscle instead of compact fat. His new world girlfriend, Sylvia, was skinny, her skin sickly white. She had never left the compound, so her vitamin D deficancy was down to her fear of learning how to survive. They had found each other a few days after the outbreak, got together, found this place and the rest was history.

Sylvia gushed over the baby, making faces as the pair of them both made their way to the patio. Brooke watched as the giggling child hid her head against Brooke's chest. On instinct she petted the back of her hair gently, her head moving so that the side of her face saw the pair whilst covering herself by Brooke's breast.

The child was not fond of strangers. This was the first time she didn't really throw a fit in Brooke's company, so it wasn't a surprise that both Franklin and Sylvia agitated her. This kid had a talent for tantrums and she would rather not see another one.

They didn't registries this. Smiles wide, they beamed at the irritated baby. Franklin cooed, his voice higher than his usual baritone.

"She sure is cute."

Sylvia looked up at him, her hand interlocked with his, "They all are at that age. I can't remember the last time I saw a baby. Probably before all of this even started."

Brooke didn't say anything. She didn't need to, they weren't really talking to her, not yet.

"Has the father woken up yet?"

Damn. She shifted, readying herself for the task of unwanted conversation.

"Don't know. Walt went over to check up on him. He took a turn for the worst last night."

"He wasn't in good shape when we found him." Franklin said, "He must've been through some rough stuff. Pretty thin, few old bruises, the works."

Sylvia mused that over, "Not surprised, the outside is dangerous. I remember George telling the others stories about what some of the people did out there."

Brooke's body tensed at the mention of that name. She held the baby tighter, trying to seem unhinged. It didn't work.

Sylvia looked at her and patted a boney hand on her shoulder, "How are you holding up?"

She didn't want to talk about it. It was exhausting. She shrugged, attention back on the baby's buried face. She soothed the little girl's back.

"Fine." she said.

And again, there it was. The pity. It was why she had to leave, why she did.

Before she her plans were interrupted.

Franklin looked up at the sky. The overcast shadows darkened in shade, the night's entrance a slow, yet inevitable progession. Brooke steadied her breathing, trying to remain calm. They were talkers. They would stay for a good half hour or so and it would be wrong to turn them away, despite how much she wanted it.

She patted the baby's back as she tuned out of the couple's conversation. They didn't notice as much, taking her silence as an invitation to chat around the new child. It was rude on her part, to feign interest. Rude on theirs not to notice her need for solace. She was sure they be here for a long time.

That was until the slow moving figure of Walt Wallace made its way in direct sight of her porch.

Sylvia, who had rooted her boney frame on the chair next to her, waved at the doctor. Brooke couldn't help but smile at the obvious disinterest he returned, before her stomach sunk at the endless possibilities he could've come to talk to her about. From the look on his face either their guest just died or tried to kill him.

Maybe both. She hoped it was both.

The closer he came to the house, the more apparent his mood was aimed towards her. The others didn't notice the change. They wouldn't have. Walt was crafty that way, his waxy face was impermiable when needed to be and people hardly ever caught him bluffing.

"Walt, any news on the man?"

Brooke bet that even he was starting to get tired of that greeting. Ever since the stranger arrived at the Base it was all people wanted to know from them. That and if they could hold the baby.

The greying doctor smiled at Sylvia, "He's awake and stable. He wants to see his daughter."

Franklin shifted from where he stood, "He's alright'?"

Walt nodded, "Gruff but nothing dangerous. Not in his state."

"He's a man with a baby, I doubt he is."

Brooke cleared her throat, "He survived out there _with_ a baby. I woudn't underestimate him."

They all went quiet as they reflected on it. Walt nodded again, his eyes glancing smoothly upon occassion at Brooke. He smiled at Franklin.

"You guys mind coming back a little later. I need to talk to Brooke about the baby's living arangments for the next couple of days."

Sylvia's eyes sparkeled, "She can stay with us if you want. Brooke, you've been doing a good job, but a baby is a lot of hard work and I used to look after my nieces and nephews all the time before the pandemic-"

Walt smiled at her, stopping her mid sentence, "I'm sure you are an excellent babysitter Sylvia, but I've already told the man that Brooke's taking care of her and even then he wasn't keen. Less is more in this instance I'm afraid, but thank you for the offer."

She sighed but didn't argue back. Any critsim that came from Walt never felt like one. He had a way of making you feel good for being let down. Brooke missed the effect it once had on her, now she saw through it like glass.

It wasn't on account of his trying, she just outgrew it.

"Well if you need any help at all Brooke, don't hesitate to ask us."

She got up and held Franklin's hand. They bid the two farwell and continued their walk around the compound. Walt didn't sit down, choosing instead to stand infront of Brooke.

"Can we go inside."

She frowned, "You're not here to talk about living arrangments are you?"

"Care to guess what I want to talk about?"

There was no humour in his words. That stomach sinking feeling hit a new low point for her and her heart palipated as she managed to remain stone faced.

"You spoke to our new friend."

"Hardly call a man that tried to mug you a friend."

"Formalities are what you make of them I guess."

"Please come inside."

She eased herself up, the baby asleep in her arms, "Gee Walt, some might think this is your house."

Walt didn't reply. She found him opening the door, almost to answer an unspoken yes to her slight dig. He stood by the entrance, shutting it firmly as she carried the now sleeping babe in her arms like a cradle.

She had half a mind to hide her tail between her legs and let the anxiety light up on her face. Walt knew. Walt was going to confront her. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to make herself care that she lied to his face, she just didn't.

There were things happening in the world that were bigger than misconstrued particulars and serious white lies. Things that were bigger than all of them. There was no point allowing to be scrutinised by his judgment when his judgment didn't matter.

So instead she made her way to the tiny living room, laying the resting baby on couch, rubbing her back, before she turned to meet the angry doctor.

Walt looked compelling. His anger was almost beautiful on him. His was jaw locked shut so that his eyes became small and beady. His mouth thin and wide, hiding his razor blade tongue for the lashing he was about to unleash on her. He was livid and frustrated and upset.

She goaded and batted him for the last three months. A part of her wanted him to scream, to hit her, to do something, anything. She knew he wouldn't though, he had a sense of self control that could rival that of the Pope.

Yet he was not as forgiving.

"Why were you out by East 9, Brooke?"

"That's none of your concern."

She didn't think he could manage it, but his jaw tightened even more.

"Don't play with me. Not after everything. I deserve more than that."

She swallowed. He did. A sly manipulation that was well placed on his part.

One she just didn't have the heart to fall for. For his own sake.

"I was leaving."

"Why?"

"I can't stay here anymore."

Silence.

Though unwanted in most every social situation, silence was never quiet at the Base. The suffocating ambiance of the unmoving pair had the wilderness of the forests as their personal soundtrack. The soft whistling of the autumnal breeze, the baritone crunch of the dying foliage, and of course, the rising cressendo of the crows -the centre piece in their natural orchestra.

He was hushed, almost an accompaniment to the background noise, "I know it's been hard, I know losing Oliver-"

"It's got nothing to do with that."

A truth within a lie. Was she like water? Clear but not transparent.

"Don't. I know it does. I'd be surprised if you left otherwise. He said you had a pack. What were you going to do? Go at it on your own?"

"I've handled everything out there."

"No you haven't Brooke." he said, "One close encounter with those things doesn't make you a seasoned vet."

"And how would you know Walt?" She would turn him on his head. Make him mad. Anything to make him stop.

He didn't deserve to be hurt like this.

Walt had cared for her in ways her own parents couldn't. Could never have the opportunity to try. She owed him more than he even knew and she would be damned if she hurt him more than this world had.

She lost everything, but that didn't mean he should too.

"I wouldn't. For good reason."

She didn't say anything after. He walked up to her, a heavy palm resting on her shoulder.

"You're all I've got left Brooke."

"I was never your's Walt."

"You were his. That made you one of us."

The sting scratched against her eyes. She looked down, she didn't want him to see it. The denial.

"I was never his, or your's , or anyone's." she said. The comment wasn't courageous, it was the opposite, she knew it was, "I'm my own."

"You can't live in this world alone. We're, God, we aren't built for that."

She rested her hand on his, squeezing it gently before brushing it off cold, "In the old one, maybe."


	6. Everything Is Trying To Kill Us

Hey guys!

I made a boo boo last chapter and uploaded an unedited draft over my final one. I know, awkward. Anyway, I've replaced it and if you'd like to reread it without the dozens of mistakes you're welcome to!

Well, here's the latest one! Enjoy!

* * *

Daryl felt like he was drowning.

Consciousness had grown difficult after his conversation with the doctor and he found himself slipping in and out, before succumbing to sleep completely. It was like he was inhaling pain, it was an uncomfortable process.

The sleep was no better than the waking. He'd shot himself with arrows more times than he'd cared to admit out here, but it didn't hurt half like this. He remembered, in one of his brief stints of wakefulness, that he still hadn't seen Judith.

Not once.

He didn't know how long they'd been there, or if she'd seen him. He wondered if she had. If she understood what was going on. At this rate, she probably knew a bit more about this place than he did.

Doctor 'Don't-Give-No-Fuck's' came in often enough. Daryl was taking a turn for the worst, they both knew it and he was glad that the man was at least honest with him about it. He would tend to Daryl often, waking him from his pained sleep when he looked him over. The man was thorough with his work, he didn't have to be awake to know that.

Realistically, most people probably saw him when he was passed out. He wasn't well enough for it to be otherwise.

Like now. Someone was in the room now. Waking him from another aching sleep. The hurt had localised, the wound sensitive and throbbing with a dull ache that only seemed to grow more painful the longer he stayed alert.

He would've just continued to fall back asleep if he hadn't heard the gurgle of a particular baby. Daryl could be blind folded in a room full of children and he'd be able to tell which one was Judith, hands down. Her little voice was like sweet ice tea on a hot summer's day, every note delicious to his ears.

Judith was in the room. Pain be damned, he forced his eyes open with a snap, his vision a useless blur. He saw shapes, outlines of what he thought was a person, distorted. They were close to him, how close he couldn't guess, but one of them was her. It was Judith.

He heard a woman speak to the baby, talk to her gently before he saw them both. The voice was earthy, the light undertones scratching above it feminine. A readjustment of his eyes and he saw her. Tall, young, olive skinned with curly dark hair tied in an bun that had seen better days. Her eyes for the most part were sympathetic, their brown hues darkened in contrast to the heavy set purple bags she carried underneath them.

He gathered she had the potential to be pretty once, but that prettiness was overshadowed by the stress that ate away at her face. Her cheeks were hollow, the tops of her head greasy, her skin sported that common hint of grey that came with an inconsitent diet. She sat on the bed in a brown long sleeved t-shirt and some faded blue jeans, Judith in her arms, the baby's tiny hands grabbing at the stranger's cheeks in delight. The girl smiled at the her, a patience that spread on her face like butter.

It was serene, watching them. His pain soaked mind was so tired, the scene in front of him seemed almost therapeutic. He didn't stir, he just watched them for a minute, intrigued by how quickly the fierce over protection inside of him took pause as he saw them both.

He couldn't remember the last time someone else held Judith like that.

It was probably back at the prison. Back when Beth and Carol and Carl and Rick would watch over her endlessly. Back when that little sweet thing had more parents than most. Still, as he lay there, dying, he couldn't remember the last time someone else held her like that.

The culprit in question to his musings looked up, Judith still playing with her face. Large brown eyes meet his small blue ones. She had eyes like suns, a heat in them he knew of well. It was subtle, distant, but there was an inherent wildness in there he'd seen before.

It was her.

She shot him in the woods.

She brought him to get fixed up.

Clearly that much was true. Though whether that did more damage than good was debatable. She was the one they had left Judith with, and despite how good she seemed with her, there was a nagging voice telling him to stab her with the IV needle attached to his arm for nearly killing them both.

"How is she?"

She had a soft face. Her eyes on his, the tone of his voice cutting through her like swords on silk. She rubbed her neck, and he noted her grip on the baby tightened.

Mothering instinct. It seemed she was blessed with it. Just like she was blessed with an over zealous trigger finger.

Didn't she lie about shooting him to that doctor of his?

"She's good. Restless, she gets antsy when I bring her in to see you. "

She's brought her here before. The thought of Judith seeing him like this, seeing him barely breathing, tightened his chest. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed having, let alone admitting to.

"Give her here."

"You're still in intensive care."

"Don't care. Hand her o'er"

Her spirit matched her complexion. Soft, bruising. She held her head down.

"She's not allowed to be on you. "

"Don' mean she can't be next t' me."

She didn't say anything to that, placing Judith by his side so his weak arm could cradle him close to her. The baby did not move much thankfully, choosing instead to bang her tiny fists into the mattress. The relief of having her there was unimaginable. He had itched for her to be near him for so long.

The girl shifted her focus from him to the baby, a reflexive fascination from seeing the unlikely pair together again. It was understandable. They were two wrong puzzle pieces that somehow fit.

"She's been wanting to see you." she said, "She hates having other people looking after her."

He lowered his eyes from her's to Judith. The baby broke into a grin at the sight of being close to him, trying to crawl on top of him and banging his sides in the process. The pain reverberated in casual waves, and he brushed her hands off, clasping them both with his one palm and squeezing it gently.

This was worth the agony. He'd trade a hundred baby punches to his broken body for her to be by his side.

He turned his attention back to the stranger.

"Always been like that. She ain't bad, just spooks with strangers."

"We figured that when we tried to get her out of the room." she said, "She screamed when anyone touched her. I bring her in when I can though. She's calmer when she's near you"

Daryl wasn't surprised. He figured keeping a close eye on him would've been hard with a baby in the way, and he could imagine the trauma of getting Judith off of him when they were stitching him up. Little baby just never let strangers touch her. She knew better from the people they met on the outside.

Except for this one, he mused.

The girl that put a bullet in him.

"Gotta name?"

She still looked at the baby as she answered, "Brooke. You?"

"Daryl."

"Daryl. Crossbow weilding baby cabby that moonlights as a part time thief."

"Don' act like ya any better. Shootin' people and shit."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, her flyaways frizzy and concealing parts of her face. He let go of Judith's hands and petted her head. Her hair had been washed. Come to think of it her clothes were new too.

"An eye for an eye."

There wasn't an inkling of remorse in her tone. If she was hiding it, it didn't register in her features either. Her aloofness was shared with such nonchalance, Daryl didn't feel the need to be angry that she wasn't sorry for nearly killing him.

He did nearly kill her too. Like she said, an eye for an eye.

"How long I been 'ere for?"

Judith was spitting up all over her face. Brooke reached over and wiped the spit with her sleeve, readjusting one of her blonde curls.

"Twelve days."

Twelve days? His recollection of his conversation with the doctor cleared, but he swore that was yesterday.

"Thought it wa' a couple o' days most."

She shook her head,"No, nearly two weeks. Walt, the doctor, says you're doing a lot better though. He says the worst of your fevers are over now."

"Fevers?"

"Apparently. I hadn't really kept tabs on you. You're daughter's been my priority."

Not his daughter. Not her priority.

Judith shimmied her booty, her wranggly little legs pulling themselves in before trying to spring her to a stand. She wanted Daryl to hold her. He pulled her down, her face scrunching in protest. She tried again without any luck and started to whine. The stranger got up, smoothing down the dips and bends of the countless creases on her worn shirt.

"I'll give you two a minute before I have her fed."

"You lookin' after her good and all?"

He saw her brow cock a fraction, "Well she's not dead."

"Mean she no handful or nothin'?"

She shook her head, "It's not felt like it."

"Babies are work."

She looked at Judith, a small nod her answer. This girl had one of those faces that could bluff her way through a champion Poker game. Daryl couldn't see it, not a wink, but he had a feeling that everything she did for Judith was as far away from feeling like work as physically possible. She shrugged it off before heading to get the baby her food.

His eyes settled at the door before traveling down to the little blonde baby pulling at his sheets. She smacked his side again, her digits trying to grasp onto his bare skin. Skin that he forgot was totally bare until that moment.

His heart panged, before dropping to his stomach at the realization that he was exposed. He looked down, and saw the banadages covering his body, almost like it were trying to cover some twisted form of modesty.

No, not modesty. It was self preservation. He didn't give a shit about the doctor seeing the scars, fuck knows how many he'd seen before. He just didn't want any of them seeing it.

Those weren't for anyone to see. They were his personal momentos. His souvenirs of the world before this world.

The bandages may have covered his body, but he wasn't stupid. He knew most of his skin was visible. It was like having a fucking Polark painting spattered on him. Like his back was some kind of ugly beige canvas.

He pulled up the sheets anyway. He had a right to keep things private. Judith tipped forward as the sheets went up, his breathing hitched as the healing muscles jolted at the action. She looked up at him, big blue-green eyes smiling before crawling by his covered thigh.

His lip twitched in mirth.

"Whatcha smilin' 'bout girl?"

She gurgled, sounding more coherent than ever. He noted the colour on her cheeks. They were feeding her well.

No, *she* fed her. Clothed her, with nice clothes too. They fit her better than the ratted shit he'd put on her. Her hair was brighter, which he didn't think possible considering how fucking blonde she was.

If he thought her ringlets were gold then, they were like little bits of sunshine now.

"You been livin' like a queen, eh?"

More babbling, a few real words dropped in. Then a high pitched laugh coming out of a smile so wide he wondered how her face didn't hurt. He leaned back and let her play with his fingers as she went on and on and on with her gibberish.

"Hush now, ya tire yaself out."

She didn't care, she just took it as an excuse to laugh again before trying to stuff his finger into her mouth. He pushed it away, stroking her cheek instead. The pain was becoming more promient and harder to ignore.

The girl came in a little bit after that. Mushed up God knows what on a plate and standing by the bed like the world's most awkward piece of furniture.

Daryl didn't get how someone without much presence had the power to stick out like she did. He just looked at her, her head pointed to his, her gaze not faltering as she waited for him to be done with the baby. Like he had an allocated amount of time to spend with her.

Like some kind of fucking visitation right.

How the hell did he manage to get stuck in a system when the world couldn't manage indoor plumbing?

"Food's gettin' cold, ya gonna feed her or what?"

"I was waiting."

"Goin' be waitin' all day if ya don' say nothin'."

She shuffled a little, "I didn't want to disturb you. You two haven't been together for a while."

"Didn't look like it."

"Sorry." She looked down, "Do you mind if I take her now?"

"Can feed her right her."

"Walt said I shouldn't."

"You listenin' to the Doc now?"

There was that heat again. In her eyes, like embers. She titled her head in defiance, and he saw her argue with herself about denying it or not.

"If we did half the things we're told to do there'd be less of us still around."

He had half a mind to snort. It was painful though, so he thought against it.

"Ya tell that to all the people you shot?"

"No. They don't tend to live long after."

He eyed her. She was nervous, but hid that back well with a gusto he figured common with the young. He was pretty sure he still had that in him, though it wasn't like it was.

What was that even? Gumption? Sure, gumption.

Most would call it recklessness. It was that too.

"Can sit down and feed her 'fya want. Can't stop ya takin' her away."

She looked at the baby, before sitting as far away possible from him. She reached out to Judith, who gave her a disinterested look. Food be damned, the baby still wanted to catch up.

Daryl, though, was pretty tired out. Baby needed to eat. He pointed at the food on the girl's lap before giving Judith that look she knew better than to test.

Little baby was a smart one. She had gumption too.

The girl fed her, even going so far as moving closer to the baby instead of being awkward as fuck about the whole thing. He could feel his breathing settle, the blunt aching turning into a stabbing kind of pain. It came in short waves, the intervals longer and longer.

He felt hot. The fever boiling his body from the inside. He didn't know much about gun wounds, but he knew fever usually meant infection and infection usually meant dead.

The universe couldn't cut him a break.

"You okay?"

His eyes snapped open. He didn't realise they were shut. The girl had Judith in her arms. The food had gone, when did she feed her so fast?

He wondered, about her. About her intentions. Call it delirium but he just had to make his mind up about her.

"Was it worth it?"

He wasn't sure what he was asking. Hell, he wasn't making sense to himself, he just had to say something, ask something. He just had to. His body was failing his sanity, his mind in a free fall of pain.

She frowned, choosing not to answer. Instead she stood up with Judith balanced on her hip and placed an intrusive hand on his forehead. It lingered there before traveling down to the side of his neck, the beautiful cold gliding along his face.

He wanted those hands to stay there forever.

"You're burning up again." she looked concerned. It made him feel better. She shot him, but at least she gave enough of a shit to be concerned. Mothering instinct, she probably couldn't help it.

"Hey, don't sleep just yet okay."

"Was it worth it?" he asked her again. She ignored him. He heard the soft padding of footsteps leave the room.

It was hard not to fall back to the darkness.

Sleep was painless.

He felt the anxiety spike up. He couldn't die. Not for his sake, but for Judith's.

He wasn't going to let himself.

Gumption again, he thought as he felt the waves of consciousness flood him back to reality. He had no control over that. Dead was dead, he just couldn't leave Judith.

Muffled sounds. Someone touching his face again. Cold hands, fingers that had the artic at their tips.

"Daryl, I need you to drink this."

A pill forced between his lips, water trickling down his chin. A cloth next, not as delicious as the frigid fingers, but it had the same effect.

He opened his eyes. Brown eyes full of heat were looking back at his. No, not looking, searching. They were a lighthouse calling ships at sea. Calling out to the oblivion.

"Hold that there whilst I change the IV."

Another voice, the Doctor's voice. Firm and strong. A stinging pain in his arm that was muted by the horrific heat coming off of him.

He was going to die. In a bed in Massachusetts. It wasn't a walker in Georgia, it was a fucking fever in the outskirts of fucking Boston.

"Judith."

"Judith?"

"Baby. Judith?"

"She's fine."

"Keep her safe. Promise me."

He didn't hear a reply. Did he even say the words? Light patting of the cloth on his forehead. He felt the doctor twist him, the pain jolting him back from the tittering edge of oblivion. Removal of bandages, his bitter consciousness unnerved by his exposed scars tasting the air, a dabbing pressure on his sensitive skin, enough for him to cry out despite himself. His eyes were closed again, liquid stinging his sockets as tears spilt on their own accord.

This was what it must feel like to lose yourself to pain. His senses unusable, the world around him barely registering. This was a pain unlike any he'd ever felt. Worse than any beatings, than any bar fights or close shaves.

A sigh of relief. Not his, another. Was he still awake, he didn't really know anymore.

"Walt?"

"I was afraid it was the wound. It's clean."

"Well he's still burning up, Walt. If it's not the wound, then it's something else."

"Without the proper equipment, there's no telling what's wrong with him Brooke."

"But it's not infection."

"He would've turned ages ago."

"No I mean-"

"There's no knowing if it is. He's feverish, but he's getting stronger. The fever is a result of either trauma or infection. Considering how he's been doing, I'm inclined to believe it's the former."

"So he's going to make it?"

A pause on the diagnosis. The cloth slipped a little from his forehead, the beloved fingers grazing his skin once more. They were still like ice.

"He'll need time, but yes. If things progress how they are, then eventually yes."

More shuffling. The cloth readjusted, it lay limp, unfastened on his face. She was leaving.

A man's voice, the doctor's voice.

"You're putting a lot of effort into saving someone that nearly killed you."

Sleep was taking him now, he felt the loss of wakefulness crawl from the base of his spine upwards. He was cooling down. He was still unbareably hot, but it was now at least comfortable to breathe again.

His breathing was getting shallow. Sleep was coming.

"Everything's trying to kill us Walt. It's normal now."


	7. No Better Than Roaches

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She felt responsible.

She was responsible. There had been intent in putting that bullet into his back. She shot to kill.

So now, now that things were different, complicated, she acknowledged her active role in this whole mess. Her responsibility in it. Because it was a mess. One that would've been simpler if neither of their paths ever met.

But that's not how the world worked.

Not this one or the last one. Messes happen. As far as experience taught her, this one wasn't as bad as the others.

Shitty yeah, but it could've been worse.

The baby _-Judith-_ was restless beyond comparison. Seeing her father awake for the first time in half a month had only made her more active. She bounced with a new found energy Brooke ached to have herself.

So much joy in a world so joyless. She was sure if the sun refused to shine one day, the baby _-Judith_ _-_ could manage to light the world with her smile. Brooke found herself smiling more when she was with her, she was infectious that way.

And Brooke was catching her like a cold.

As for Daddy dearest, well, he was better. Not well, not really, but better. His fevers were less frequent, but the pain was getting to him. Walt told her that they were running low on painkillers and that, frankly, he didn't want to give him anymore.

She wondered when he decided to become heartless. Walt didn't care before about supplies. No one went outside of the walls often and those that did were careful. There hadn't been much need to use them, because nine times out of ten when someone needed them they ended up dead and quick.

"He's getting better. The pain will subside by itself."

She stopped playing with the child. Sam, one of the regular runners, found a playpen and brought it to her. Her new role as babysitter made her the recipient of many child related gifts in the last two weeks.

"He's in pain Walt." she gave him a look. She was giving him a lot of looks lately. None of them too kind.

What they had was more like a memory than a reality nowadays. The good doctor was reserved. Distant.

She shattered his trust. It would take time to rebuild that again.

Funny how the one thing she wanted to avoid, was the one thing that ended up happening.

"I've wasted near half my stock on trying to keep him comfortable. He's out of the worst of it, he's going to have to deal with recovering without the painkillers."

She raised a brow, "You didn't have any problem doping me up a couple of months ago, and that was just cramps. In comparison he looks like he needs them more."

"Yes well, he's not family."

Neither was she.

"So you're not giving him drugs because he's not family? What about the rest of us?"

"The community's different."

"So family and friends warrant full access to your medicine cabinet."

"Don't twist it." he sounded tired. Probably was, "What if something happens? I'm running low right now, and I need to think about the rest of us."

"So no more painkillers because he's not one of us."

He made a sound that was halfway between a groan and a whine but too soft to be either.

"Brooke, what do you want me to do?"

Good question. She had no idea herself. She fiddled with one of the toys on the playpen. When she got it, she scrubbed the thing until her hands were red and sore. They floated by the little girl's head, an abstract halo of mini scuffed up animals entertaining her beyond belief.

"I'm sorry Walt, it's just, I dont know, it feels wrong."

"We've done what we can to keep him alive. He's not as bad as he was, and all things considered-"

"All things considered?"

"I'm still counting this as a massive favour on your part. The man tried to kill you out there."

Back to this again, "Yeah, and he's now lying in the infirmary, and we're debating whether we can spare him some crappy over the counter pills."

"Is this about guilt?"

She petted Judith's hair. _Judith_. Little baby with no idea that her daddy was in some pretty deep water.

"Responsibility. Once he's better we can kick him out, or keep him here if you guys want, I don't know. It's just, he's all she's got. I don't want to be the reason why she's lost that."

He walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She repressed the urge to shrug it off. She wasn't a fan of touching anymore.

"You can dress it as whatever you like, but that's guilt."

Bile climbed up her throat, and she pushed it down with a lump that managed to form from nothing to something in the matter of milliseconds. She hid it well though, she knew she hid it well.

He was right, of course. This was about guilt. It was a different kind of guilt to the one she felt all the time. It was still guilt the same though.

She didn't want Judith to feel like she felt right now. That was it. She didn't care that she was barely old enough to remember what she had for breakfast, she didn't want the baby to feel like this. If anything happened to that man it was because of her, and she didn't want to be the reason she lost him.

Hence the responsibility.

"I'll go and get them."

Walt's grip on her shoulder tensed a fraction.

"What?"

"I'll go out and get him the painkillers. I'll stock your whole cupboard too."

"I don't want you going out there."

She gave him that look again, "Why?"

"Look what happened last time."

She brushed his hand off, a little brisker than she thought necessary, "It's not like last time. I have a reason to come back."

She reckoned she could get a doctorate in crushing Walt with just a few words. She could tell from his eyes, clouded and sharp all at once. He really was a spectacle worth watching when he was upset. A work of art. So little movement in his face, yet his thoughts spelled out on his forehead.

When she told him Oliver died, it was like watching a fireworks display. The synchronisation of his frowning brow, his downturned mouth, the music of his mourning, the creases of his crow's feet scratching against his rouging eyes, the way his nose lit red like a Christmas light. Then his descent into grief, like running down a staircase, down into despair.

She wondered, if it were her instead, would he have been that beautiful too. It was a rather terrible thing to admire. She couldn't help it though.

It was so human. There wasn't much of that left anymore.

"I was talking about the trouble you got into. Not the leaving."

"Well you can take that as reassurance then."

"You've got a wonderful way of showing it Brooke."

Not much else was said after that. He left, his stance on permission made unclear. Not that she needed his premission. She was a grown woman, she could do whatever the damn hell she wanted to do.

She dropped baby Judith at Sylvia's, the woman's eyes trying hard to remain in her skull at the offer of caring for the child. Judith was far from impressed, struggling from Sylvia's boney grip, tiny arms clawing at the space between her and Brooke as her form of a clear protest. Sylvia was too thrilled about babysitting for Brooke's liking. It wasn't Sylvia's fault, lots of things annoyed Brooke now, naive middle aged women were one of them.

Brooke pushed the thought away, more for her sake than anything else. A small kiss on the Judith's forehead was her parting gift, a promise she'd take the baby back from her new found hell.

That Ford Focus she got from her last outing had enough gas for a quick trip to and back. She packed what she'd need from the armoury, opting with her small scuffed up canvas bag from her university days, instead of the hiker get up she had going on the last time. The next time she decided to leave she'd figure out a way to travel even lighter.

Because there was going to be a next time.

She was dead certain about that.

Knife in hilt, gun in holster, ammunition, food, water, hoodie. She tied up her muddy boots that Oliver gave her in the early days of all this. They used to be a firm shade of camel, and now they were muted, a near grey colour that most of her clothes adopted.

Past the infirmary, past the houses that sat under the unstable illusion of safety, past the gate and off she went. It was a half hour's drive to the nearest town. She'd drive up next to the pharmacy, grab everything she could get her hands on and then get the fuck back to camp.

The trip itself was nothing to remark. Nothing, living or otherwise, presented itself from the dying forests onto the clear open road. The car skidded at one turn a fraction more than expected, but it wasn't cause for alarm.

Autumn was leaving them. The winter was taking it's claim to the Earth, the November chill grabbing hold to whoever came across it. It clung onto Brooke's bones, the car ride getting colder as the journey grew longer.

As she parked a half block from the pharmacy, she felt the gentle pinch of ice on her nose before looking up and seeing it. The first snow. Powdering frost like sugar on cake it began coating the road, the buildings, the cars, the curious undead, her. Virgin snow, untouched and bright.

She contemplated it again after stabbing a couple of wondering infected square on the head. Black blood staining the white snow. It reminded her of piano keys.

The undead always found a way to ruin the scenery, but people, people were no better than roaches. George said that to her once. All things considered, she was almost inclined to believe him.

She hated admitting it, but George taught her more on surviving than anyone else back at the Base. The couple of runs she'd gone with him were eye opening, intellectual torture, but eye opening. George used to clean out herds like he was cleaning out closets, shucking the heads of the infected like damn oysters.

It was expected, of course. Before coming to the Base he spent months on the outside with a group that all died on a raid. The boy had more life experience with the outside than he had years on him and he loved to gloat about it.

He was a fucking brute. His knowledge of survival was his only redeeming quality. Even then, it wasn't worth any of the time Brooke had to spend with him.

The pharmacy had been cleared by their group before. There was no disturbance when she pulled herself over the counter and grabbed any of the meds she could lay her hands on. Papaverine, Hydroxychloroquine, Xolair. She was no doctor or nurse, she had no idea what half this shit was, but it was something.

Pack full, she hopped over the counter, stuffing what little space she had left with the few packs of paracetamol and ibuprofen that remained in the ransacked chemist's.

She paused before leaving, spotting teething gel by the baby section. She picked up a few tubes, grabbed a packet of pads on her way out and made headed to the car. A thin, though sizeable, layer of snow lay on the windscreen, the snowflakes the size of her fingertips and growing.

This wasn't hoody weather. The last winter was rough, the sun scarce, leaving the solar panels icy and worthless. Brooke remembered huddling with Walt and Oliver in a fire they made out of celebrity biographies. They reasoned that if literature was to be sacrificed, it should be the very bottom of the barrel first.

It was the first time she held someone out of necessity rather than love. She sat with the others, hugging them in something akin to a pagan prayer circle, for their warmth. Her fingers blistered from the cold that year, painful and frostbitten, but still there.

She sat in the car waiting for the heater to defog the windows. Another hour and this place would be covered, white sheets of snow inviting almost. She couldn't remember the last time she played in the cold, doubted that baby ever had either.

 _Judith_. Not baby. Judith.

She noticed, as the snow fell thick on the grey land, more infected than when she left. One, two, five, eight, herd -she stopped the car, reversing slowly. They were making their way up the road, blocking her path back. She wasn't going to attempt several hit and runs, not in the fucking snow.

On foot it would take her five minutes to get to the Base-

A shrill cry broke the stillness. The decibels a high enough pitch to startle every being on the road, carrying itself across the snowy plane to the tiny red Ford Focus. It was like a horn, a beacon addressing the world to its perpetrator's exact location.

Screaming. Someone was screaming.

Brooke locked the doors, shut the engine off and ducked herself down. She didn't look up as she heard the scores of muffled groans pass her. The herd were pilgrims, the screaming their Mecca.

At this rate she'd be home by-

Another scream. Pained, struggled. Another. Far too close to be a comfortable distance away.

The only thing close to Brooke was camp. The panic started playing with her.

Walt.

Judith.

The urge to run onto to the road and straight to camp was swallowed down by the fact she was in the middle of a herd. A rowdy herd. Twisting her head a fraction, her neck pained by the awkward movement, she watched as a continuous flow of decaying people walked past.

She'd have to wait. In the car. Until most of them had gone.

She had no other choice.


	8. No Signs Of A Struggle

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Something was off.

Daryl shifted, trying to get comfortable enough to forget the dull ache in his side. He was healing. Each torturous day that passed made him stronger than the last one.

He was not well, but he was better. His senses were back, his muscles weren't in constant fire, he could manage heading to the bathroom at the end of the room and piss by himself.

And every inch of his body was screaming that something was up.

The doctor hadn't come in to give him his meds. He hadn't checked on him in the last three hours. The girl taking care of Judith was late.

To these people, these comfortable, civilised people, routine was everything. It was the foundation of every meeting, every raid —fuck, he'd wager they shat on the same time everyday like clockwork. You didn't stop routine here, not for just anything.

He lifted himself out of bed, grabbing his IV cable and tugging at the cotton pyjama bottoms Doc had ordered him to wear. He caught Daryl yesterday standing naked in the middle of the room and all but had an aneurism. The crazy doctor started sprouting some kind of shit about catching pneumonia and preserving everyone's modesty.

Daryl thought he was talking about the girl that shot him and nearly said, as far as modesty was concerned, he doubted she had any. Still, berating the man that was keeping him alive wasn't the best thing to do. So he put the bottoms on, and was later told that his clothes, along with his things, were in a drawer on the far side of the room.

His crossbow was a matter of future discloser, he overheard the not so good doctor talk about an armoury. If there was any place to stick a modernized medival death machine, there was a safe bet. The second he was well enough to leave, he'd grab it, take Judith, and be gone.

Be gone from this safe, safe place?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

These people enjoyed routine. Routine was a habit of the old world. Old world mentality got people killed.

Here wouldn't be any different.

His IV was empty, and his arm itched where the needle was lodged, hooked onto his vein like fish to bait. He tugged on it, attempting to just pull it out but it stung. It wasn't like ripping off a bandage, and he ended up pulling the needle out of him in slow excruciating accuracy. He heard a shuffle, a light patting coming from his door as he studied the small bruise from where the drip had been.

The doctor would just come in. The girl too. He knew better than to answer the knocking of a stranger like some cliche dumbfuck in a horror film.

Antisocial behaviour shone in the time of the apocalypse. He wasn't going to stop that now.

The patting didn't stop, and Daryl heard the reminiscent sound of gurgling all the walkers made when they got excited. If it were a person they'd come in by now. If there was a walker here that was a whole other bunch of shit about to hit the fan.

He slowly, slower than he liked, grabbed the metal pole that held the now empty bag of fluids, dragging it next to him as he stood opposite the hardwood door frame. Digits curled on the handle. A calculated twist of his wrist and the door opened.

A face full of rotting flesh, dismembering jaw, and black teeth, blacker than sin, pushed itself near Daryl's, like an unwanted lover expectant of a kiss. That, along with having his nose as this undead bastard's mid-afternoon appetiser was not happening. He shoved the thing against the doorframe, shut the door hard so it was trapped between the wood, and smashed its head in with the metal IV pole.

He opened the door wider. Another two coming his way. He lifted the pole and swung, his body on fire, his back screaming in protest. Down the they went like dominos. He forced himself forward in a semi-limp like fashion to find the door of this apparent house wide open.

He shut it, turning with the pole at the ready. Nothing came. Nothing downstairs anyway.

The front of the house was a direct path to the bedroom Daryl had been stuck in for weeks now. There was no sign of a disturbance, the area held refuge to a tiny rustic living room. His eyes traveled to where the three walkers lay scattered across the hall like worn confetti, blood and guts decorating the white wash walls.

He walked over to examine the lot of them, using the pole as a makeshift walking stick. Vacant eyes looking upwards, their fully dead orbs stared back at his blue ones.

There was blood on their clothes. Fresh. Thick. Blood.

Judith.

Down the hall, a turn to the kitchen. The floor now a mini pool of red, soaking the ends of his pyjama bottoms and feet in crimson. On the floor, by his feet, a body. There wasn't anything left in him, everything that was once inside was out.

If it weren't for the glasses, he wouldn't know who he was looking at. God they'd gotten the eyes as well. He almost turned away. Almost.

No sign of a struggle, Doc hadn't known he was about to be chow before it was too late. Which means someone had opened the door and let them in.

Foul play.

Typical. Probably some raiders looking to stay here and needed to evict the rather useless current tenants. Daryl couldn't fault them for that, it was common place for people to act no better than animals now.

The doctor stirred. Without a thought Daryl slammed the pole straight through the man's skull, ruining what was left of his face with a sharp reverberating crunch. He regretted the reflex the second it happened, less for the pain it caused and more for the identification. There was no way anyone would know it was the doctor now.

He dropped the pole next to the corpse, grabbed the meanest looking knife and made his way upstairs. No one in the abandoned bedrooms. The bathroom was annoyingly clear.

His baby was with the girl.

Back downstairs he stripped, threw on his clothes, ransacked the place for painkillers and headed out. He hadn't scored on the drugs, there hadn't been time. Snow covered the outside of this complex, the chill smacked him hard in the face for the first time in a long time.

Walkers everywhere. Was this placed walled? He had no idea where the hell anything was.

Screaming, crying. He ran onto the road, running between the fresh kills of the apparent suburbia that resided in this place. A couple of teenagers, too stupid to know how to shoot a gun straight, were failing to end the four walkers coming their way like a surprise pop quiz. Daryl made short, pained work of them before grabbing one of the soon-be-dead ne'er do wells by their bloodied shirt.

"Which house's Brooke's?"

Kid probably shat himself. No one aside from her and the doctor had spoken to Daryl, so as far as this kid knew some wild man with a fucking butcher knife was asking him questions. He stuttered, a thin layer of sweat trickling down his forehead matching Daryl's own.

"Straight down, second house on the left. She's on the first floor. Please don't kill me."

He let go, the urge to get very sick all over himself rose as his muscles' absorbed the sudden exertion. He could puke his guts up once he had Judith. Second house on the left, he said.

He did the best he could at running, which wasn't great but it was something. Injuries fresh, agony searing through him, he dodged the oncoming walker fiesta with practised ease.

Second house to the left, he said.

The front door was opened. He jumped the stairs two at a time. Five walkers were on the first floor. Five walkers, but none of them the girl.

He walked around frantic. He checked the cupboards, the cabinets, even the the God damn trash just in case the girl put her there.

She was a smart girl.

Eyes darted to the green and white playpen in the living room. He saw blankets and toys, sprawled along the floor. He was surrounded by infantile paraphernalia, but no baby.

She was a smart girl.

Maybe she got away?

Got away but didn't go looking for the doctor? She knew better than to take Judith, he could tell she wasn't that stupid. Plus Judith's baby bag was missing.

If she had to leave the house right away, they would've come back for that later. Carrying a heavy pack of diapers and sippy cups with all those walkers out there was a disaster in the making. Especially if you're holding a near 20 pound baby.

Judith was still in the compound. She just wasn't here.

No time or energy to kick the fucking chairs on the way out. Daryl was livid, the idea of losing his baby in the middle of this shit storm making his blood boil to a whole new level of homicidal. Knife dripping and in hand he made his way out in the snowy outside.

He didn't care if he'd have to search every single house, he'd find the fucking baby. Alive.

She had to be alive.

The first house had been a bust. So had the second and the third in this row. More walkers were pilling in, and the longer he stretched himself, arched himself, swung, lifted, stabbed, punched, ran, hit, jumped the harder the tense pain in his back clung to him.

Over a half hour since he got out of the house and still no baby. Instead of continuing the row he headed inside the house across the street. The door, too, ajar.

No swarm of walkers ready to feast on his digestive track. No. Just the one. Bastard was busy on a fresh kill, it's hands stuffing it's throat with enough internal organs to keep a blackmarket trader happy. He made quick work on her.

As he went to stab the poor victim of the post mortem munching, he saw it. He'd stolen it from a Babies 'R Us in Virginia a couple of months back. It was a yellow knitted blanket, one with a toy elephant attached to the end of it.

It was her favourite.

He stabbed the woman, grabbed the blanket and tore the place apart. He was systematic, ripping shelves and drawers off of cabinets and cupboards, checking underneath couches and the bed. His hand tugged on a wardrobe door, only to be greeted by a bullet whizzing past his ear.

He spun to cover, knife at the ready. He'd be damned if he got shot again. A soft wailing, a creak at the door handle. There she was.

Baby on hip, hand sheltering her head like a fleshy helmet, other hand holding a gun ready to keep her reputation of trigger crazy firmly intact. Daryl didn't know which emotion was stronger, anger or relief. Brooke lowered her gun, her face covered in dried blood and God knows what else.

Judith was crying. He didn't realise he was slumping, rather than leaning by the wall. He placed a hand on the baby's head, her little face scrunched and red.

"Ya guys good?"

She nodded, "What happened?"

"Thought ya'd know. Gotta get outta here. Whole place is surrounded."

"The road leading out is covered with them, the back's the safest bet. Through the forrest."

He nodded. Through the forrest then. He needed one more thing.

"Where'dya put my crossbow?"

"Armoury. It's right next to the back gate."

There was a fucking back gate? He was beginning to understand how easy it was to break in here. He limped over to the living room, the girl following him with Judith in tow.

"Need somethin' t' wrap her in. Scarf or somethin'."

She put Judith on the couch, kneeled over the freshly disembowelled woman's corpse. She started tugging something off of her, getting her pale fingers right into the open chest cavity. Once off, she shook it out and showed it to him.

It was one of those baby slings, the ones with the built in fabric harness, except this one had more body tissue. He had half a mind to smack her for doing that but they had no time.

"Fuckin' rinse it or somethin', Jesus."

In and out of the kitchen, a little cleaner and dried. It wasn't great, but it would work. She slipped it on, adjusting the straps and then put Judith in it.

"Did Walt get out?"

She was a smart girl.

He looked up from hauling Judith's things onto her baby pack. Eyes up at her. She asked the question with an off putting amount of casualness, an almost forced calmness. She focused on adjusting the sling, before throwing her own pack on her back, never looking directly at him.

She was scared. She knew the Doc was done. He'd be here if he wasn't.

Daryl shook his head, he didn't have the heart to say it to her. Or look at her, not really. He looked down, zipping the bag and covering his face in his dirty long hair.

"Gotta keep movin'."

He stood up and slung the pack across his back, curling at the additional weight tugged on his tortured nerve endings. He turned to see her staring up at him, mouth parted, eyes rouging and near teary. She wasn't going to cry, he knew that. She didn't seem like the type to cry when crying suited.

She was too private.

"Did he get out?"

She got up to stand, the still snivelling Judith strapped to her breast. He shook his head again, watching her as he did it.

"Was too late."

A sharp inhalation of air. She looked up before clearing her throat. She nodded a couple of times, nodding too many times for Daryl to believe she accepted this, before speaking once more.

"They've got torches in the armoury. We'll need them soon."

There was a fire in her eyes. There was also an inherent, inconsolable sadness, a sadness that could fill oceans full to the brim. The kind you could drown in.

But there was fire. No more words were mixed. She cocked her gun and made her way in front, baby strapped in, and Daryl on her tail.

He took out the walkers that got to close. Fighting with a baby on you for the first time was a clunky, awkward experience. With so many of them there he wasn't going to risk it.

The armoury was the only house with the door closed. A warning sign by Daryl's books. Looked like the girl thought so too. She looked at him, opened the door slowly, and they walked in.

No one, not a single person, was there. The guns though, gone. She did a quick one over, hand on Judith's head. The baby went quiet again, as she usually did when she heard the walkers.

After a few seconds she kicked a cabinet door. He didn't need telling twice. They had taken everything.

A heavy sinking feeling hit his gut. He was fond of the crossbow.

"We go?" he asked her.

She looked at him, shaking her head, "We need to get your stuff. It's in a locked wardrobe in the house, along with your pack."

Relief. It wasn't like losing a favourite pair of sneakers or an old record. His crossbow was a metal extension of his arms. The arrows, his second hands.

They did manage to leave one torch though. She grabbed it, stuffing it in her back pocket so it stuck out erect, ready to be used when the time came.

They headed to another room, an open window let the snow flutter in. The wardrobe was locked, but after a bit of effort, and shooting the door, it sprung open. Top shelf, along with his pack, lay his beautiful crossbow.

His beautiful _heavy_ crossbow.

Was it always that heavy? The nausea came back, his hands a little shaky. He felt his heart pumping a little harder than usual, his breathing a little laboured.

Who was he kidding, he was a fucking mess.

He didn't have time to be mess.

He needed to get Judith, and her new keeper, out of here.

Through the door in the kitchen, past the last few walkers that lay between them and the back gate. The bolted shut back gate. He watched the girl without so much as a second thought climb over the barred passage, jumping onto the other side.

The walkers were coming. The walkers were always coming. He pulled himself up the gate, palms sweaty, back heavy, arms shaking. He landed on all fours on the snow, alive, somehow.

She had kept going, kept running. Through the trees, through the snow. He saw her running, her body never getting further or closer to him, putting him under the assumption that he was running too. He must've been.

He had to catch up. She had Judith. He had to get Judith and leave.

His boots crunched, and then the body of the girl carrying the only person in his life that matter to him anymore, the body of the girl who got him in this mess to begin with, started getting further and further away. His limbs were getting heavier, like ice had settle in his bones, freezing the his muscles.

And then, despite forbidding it, he fell face forward onto the snow.

He tried to move but couldn't. He tried calling but nothing came out. No voice. No movement.

His eyes were still open though. The snow was getting harder and harder to focus on. The individual details of bark and dirt on the frost getting blurred into the white.

Then a pair of boots stood in his line of sight. He looked up as far as he could. She was standing there, Judith in her hands, looking at him.

He saw fire in her eyes. Resolution. Then the boots walking ahead were the last things he heard.

The fire the last thing he saw.


	9. Another Sound For The Silence

Hi guys!

Sorry for the late update, I'm moving houses at the minute, lol. Anyway, thanks for all the love, reviews, follows and favourites! ❤️

* * *

Brooke contemplated that this was purgatory. That perhaps the religious fanatics were right. That maybe, just maybe, she died and this was punishment for the way she lived her old life.

Her respectable, sinless, old life.

She wondered where the old life ended and when this one began. Not that this was a life. She couldn't really call it that.

This was day after day of agony. This was the unbalanced limbo. Where the dead and the living were no longer black and white, but instead met in a middle ground: an unholy grey. The living dead preying on the dead living.

That's where she was, the figurative middle ground. In reality she was standing, waiting almost, in the snow with a baby strapped to her chest and a man passed out behind her. She had walked away, resolved in her decision to leave him there. He was a liability and liabilities didn't survive.

They just added to the statistic.

 _But_.

Ah, but.

But, but, but, but, but.

But, this man had looked out for her in their fast, and still current, escape. This man was the father of the child she was now stuck with. This man was the only familiar, coherent, if not grammatically ignorant, person from a life she witnessed crumble seconds ago.

Because despite the final months of life at the Base driving her to near suicide, it was a life. Walt was, had been, her family. The people there made it home.

She got what she wanted. She was free of them. Turns out, she was stupid, she was wrong, she bullshitted to herself because she needed to run away.

Walt was right, you can't be alone in a world like this. You'd go mad. She knew she was close to that already, she couldn't let herself go over the edge after forcing herself to survive.

Every damn day was a battle. To lose after something like this, would only be hurting herself even more. She thought she was stonger than that —damnit, she needed to start acting like it.

Starting now.

Fuck the statistics. Fuck the fact they were in the outskirts of town, in the fucking cold, surrounded by fuck knows what. Fuck their lack of food, their next to no ammunition. Fuck the idea of the three of them together sounded like a stupid fucking joke.

A fucking toddler, a crippled hillybilly and a Goddamn nutcase, stranded in the snow during the end of the world.

She wasn't going to die without trying to live first.

Even if this was purgatory.

She turned back, ran over to him and crouched down. She had a hand on Judiths back, patting her up and down for warmth as she shook the man.

"Hey," she said, her voice low, "Not now. Come on, get up."

Nothing. She didn't have many ideas. The woods were quiet, but she reckoned they had about an hour tops before the sun began setting.

He was still breathing. She examined his shirt, checking to see if he was bleeding, which he wasn't. It had been a couple of minutes since he passed out, if he didn't wake up, they be screwed.

She pulled the crossbow off, and turned him on him in his back. A whimper. Definitely not dead. She shook him again.

"Daryl, right? Come on, wake up."

She smacked his face. Nothing. She grabbed at some snow and lay it on his forehead.

No movement.

"Daryl, wake up."

He roused. His mouth opened and she remembered nights when her friends drunk themselves stupid and passed out. She titled his head to the side, got up and moved to his legs, trying to lift the left one with her free hand.

She heard him gasp, jolting a bit before turning his head and looking at her. She let go, pulling him up to a sitting position. Bad idea, he lost balance and nearly fell back if not for her iron grip.

She knelt beside him, eyes scanning around for any unexpected guests. His palms held his head, his eyes closed and his body shaking. They needed to get out of here.

She grabbed his head with her hand so she could have a proper look at him.

"It's okay. Can you move?"

He was disorientated. He was pale. There was no way in hell he could carry the crossbow and the pack and walk and fend anything off.

"W'at happen'd?"

"You passed out. Can you move?"

He nodded. It was a vote of confidence, she pushed the crossbow away as he tried to reach for it. Blue eyes met brown in agitation.

"We're swapping. I'll carry the stuff, you carry Judith. There's a town about forty minutes away that we can stay for the night, but we need to keep moving."

He nodded again. She threw down her pack, opened it and sifted through the drugs she hoarded a couple hours ago. As she sifted, she threw away the ones she didn't know about. At the very bottom was a now ice cold bottle of water. She handed it to him, and watched as he forced himself to remain still, despite the cold, and drink. He passed it to her, she shook her head, throwing a pack of painkillers in his lap and unfastening the sling.

"Take two. I know it's not much, but it's all I've got that I know won't kill you."

She sat Judith on his lap as he swallowed the pills dry before wrapping the baby in her hoodie. She then helped fasten her to the man and grabbed all the packs, bags hanging all over her. The bitch of a crossbow was strapped on her shoulder, and she staggered up.

He looked at her, not too trusting. She didn't blame him. She was going to dump his fucked ass, what, five minutes ago?

"Ya can't carry all that."

She didn't bother arguing, walking forward from him a second time. She heard him get up and she slowed so he could keep up with her. He was slow, this was going to be terrible, she didn't care.

It was silence the whole trip. They encountered several undead, managing not stir any as she lead them through the darkening night. She didn't bother looking at who the victims were, it didn't matter anymore.

It was cold. The baby was going to die and soon if they didn't find someplace safe for the night. The town as per appeared deserted, but she knew, *knew*, that if people had fled the Base they'd have come here.

"Where's safest?"

She looked at him. She wasn't used to being the one to make desicions. People usually expected her to follow, not lead.

He didn't look good though. He was wearing his jacket, if you could call that sleeveless thing a jacket, backwards so to cover Judith. The stitched distressed wings gave the child an ominous rather than sweet comparison to an angel.

She looked ahead, she knew where people would hold. The restaurant at the end, the pharmacy, the 24-hour corner shop. People from the Base may be there.

Then again, so could other people.

Right now, she couldn't risk that. She remembered the library. Perhaps there.

"Follow me."

Another twenty minute walk in the dark. Nothing around. It didn't calm her, opposite in fact.

The library was a modern building. It needed care that no one would ever give it, not anymore. The thing she liked most about it was it's pull doors.

The entrance, the bathrooms, the quiet study areas, nothing came in. Nothing undead anyway, they couldn't pull anything. When they first discovered it, there had been only one turned. It was safe. Or well, she thought so.

It was a far enough point in town to be both out of the way but direct to everything. She walked in, opened the door and turned on the flashlight. No one was here.

After dragging them both up a flight of stairs between the travel literature and the transport section. She dumped everything on the ground, checked the windows, the bathrooms and the halls, before pushing a desk in front of the door to the second floor stair case.

She grabbed a metal bin on her way back and placed it between her and the now seated man and baby. He was going to go again, she could tell. He was on the verge of passing out. He watched her, his face slack, his hands loosely curled around his child's frame, his eyes holding bags that were deep purple and heavy, as she ripped the pages from the countless books around them, grabbed a match from her pack and lit a fire.

Orange flames engulfed beiged paper. Light and warmth fluttered against their faces, down their bodies, into their souls. It flushed any remenents of the cold, and she felt her wet clothes drying, uncomfortably, from so little exposure. It was then, and only then, did she sit herself down.

She was opposite him. His breathing laboured, a slow rising and falling from his chest. Judith was quiet, but not asleep. His hands holding her frame, gently kneading the ridges of leather smooth on her back.

"W'at happen'd?"

She pulled over the bag full of baby things, her back still sore from lugging everything for so long. She looked at the clothes they had for the child, opting to put a couple more layers on her to keep her warm.

"I don't know. I was on a run. When I came back a bunch of them were blocking the road. I waited, got to camp as fast as I could, and found it over run."

"And Judith? Ya left her?"

No venom in his tone. This was a recollection. A retelling of sorts.

"I wasn't taking her along. Sylvia, the lady watching her, she was alive when I got back. She told me she stuck Judith in the closet. When I went to get her I heard one grab her, then I got in the closet and locked it. I was going to wait it out, and then," she eyed him, "That's when you came."

The soft crackling of burning pages accompanied his grunt, "Doors where open. Heard walkers from outside my door, sorted them out and foun' him there."

"Walt?"

"Mm."

Walt. He wouldn't stand a chance with those things. It didn't matter about his training, about the people he treated in the war zones he was shipped to. Walt panicked when he was faced with them. She thought it had to do with the inhumanity of it all.

"Was it bad?" she curled her knees by her chest, grabbing at them as a substitute security blanket, "Did they, God, did it look-"

"'S o'er now. Don' need to ask that."

Tone stiff, face stoic. Regardless of the pain, he'd said that with a firm voice. Too firm.

It was bad. Course it was. Sylvia had been ripped in two, her blood stained in between the creases of Brooke's palms.

"He ain't one of them."

She paused her musings, "What?"

"Ya friend. He ain't one of them. One o' the walkers. Made sure."

The expression was foreign. Walkers. She knew what he was saying though.

Walt wasn't wondering out in the snow, guts trailing close behind him, searching for some poor bastard to rip apart with his rotting hands. His face wasn't eating away at decaying flesh, consuming everything from meat to bone. He was dead, body stiff from a fresh case of rigour mortis.

It nearly drove her to tears. She had to do her very best to not lose it there and then. All at once a nauseating mixture of sentiment, a select complicated swirl of emotions flourished inside of her. She was devastated, so full of grief and anger and inconsolable sadness, and yet, knowing that, knowing this stranger had done that, gave her an incomparable sense of relief.

It was touching. Sickening, but touching.

She swallowed the forming bump in her throat, lips dry and coarse as she pulled herself tighter.

"Thank you." She said.

Two words that were uttered so easily, but carried more weight than any of the packs she dragged around today. He didn't say anything, he just sat there.

Nothing else was said. She watched as he slowly lost the battle of wakefulness to sleep. Judith was snoring softly, the streets were quiet, the snow still fell.

She didn't sleep during the night. She wouldn't this night on principal.

Gifted with a frail state of privacy, she buried her face between her hands and cried. Her whimpers quiet. Another sound to add to the silence.


	10. Safer Before You

Hey guys!

Here is a new chapter to start/end your week.

Enjoy and thanks for the reviews, follows and favourites! ❤️

* * *

Given the situation, he didn't know what to make of her.

Judith had taken a liking to her, and not that he made all his judgments on the personal opinion of a near two year old, she had grown on the child. Damn baby was having actual conversations with her, she listened to her when she was told off, hell, she even put something in her pack all by herself just because she asked her to.

He knew the kid was smart, but he didn't know she could do that. Judith was talking more, with actual coherent words. Her little face shone when she walked up to him pointing at all the 'buks' that were here. She would wobble as she walked up by one of the bookcases, fists waving everywhere as she told Daryl all about the 'buks'.

Then she would open one up and start ripping the pages. His previous thoughts of her being a gifted literary savant doubtful as each page was torn from its binding. Still, he beamed at her, full on beamed.

She could say book. _Book_. Since fucking when?

She called her 'buk' as well, the stranger. And, much to his frustration, Judith was calling him daddy. Never, never in his year of caring for the child had he ever referred to himself in that way, but she was calling him daddy now. _Daddyyyyyyy_.

Damn 'Buk' had screwed that up for him.

Another thing to add to the ever growing list of her wonderful qualities. Right next to depressing and trigger crazy.

It was the third day they had spent in the library. His new comrade in arms was no where to be seen. Yesterday she had been out, only to return bloodier, with a new thick, puffy jacket and a couple of cans of beans. Dinner for the next few days, if they were lucky.

She spent most of the daylight away. When he asked where she went, she just said around. She wasn't much of a talker, well, not to him.

She talked non stop to Judith.

Baby loved it. Daryl figured she always knew how to talk, but never really did with him. He wasn't much of a talker either.

On the first day, she'd found a bunch of storybooks and read to her. She sat the baby on her lap, book in front of them, and read and read and read. She waited with an unfaltering patience, Judith demanding to have the exact page read to her twelve times over, her face fascinated by the illustrations. Daryl's heart sunk a bit as he watched the little girl listen in earnest to stories he'd heard back when he was a kid.

If he'd known she'd be like that, her face smiling from ear to ear, he'd have sat her on his lap all those nights she cried and read her stories. He'd have made it a part of his routine, a regular requirement, to grab books for her along with her other things. Seeing her this happy, this excited, was something he only wanted to witness, to cause. Later on she'd come, book in hand, and give it to Daryl with a chirpy, "Buk Daddy".

Broke his damn heart.

She had that particular book opened next to him, Daryl petted her hair and read to her. She didn't know how to say much, but her new vocabulary was in constant use. She shoved the book in his hand, nagging 'buk' over and over until he gave in and read it to her.

She napped after, Daryl wrapped her tight in a blanket and his jacket, before kissing her forehead and getting up slowly. He'd been stationary since leaving the Base, his body still screaming at him from the blatant over exertion.

He was stronger than yesterday. He was taking painkillers like candy corn, but he was stronger. The 'bullet incident' wasn't going to be the end of him.

He didn't like leaving Judith out of his sight, but he was curious as to where the girl was. Sunset had been an hour ago. The library now shrouded in a cool blue light as the winter sun left the sky, the clouds its replacement.

He didn't have to look far. She was on the next floor up, asleep. Body curled in that puffer jacket she stole, back against a book case in the cooking section of all places. She had her knife questionably close to her face, tip near her cheek.

She didn't look comfortable or rested. The hood of her jacket was up, her hair tied in a ratty greased bun which protruded the top of her covered head to an awkward degree. Shallow, near silent breathing moved her chest in small waves.

He left her there. Privacy seemed pretty important to her. She moved to a different floor to sleep after all, he gathered she wanted to be alone.

There was no point to stick around, and he didn't like being too far from Judith. He made his way back to her again, deciding against resting. He'd done enough of that.

They were now in a bit of a predicament, the pair of them. They had this girl now. This Brooke, and he was having trouble making her out.

She had no where else to go, that much was certain. A community full of people and when shit hit the fan she ran for the stranger's baby. People with friends did everything they could to get back to them, not stay in a library for half a week.

He lost count how many times he went back for people. For Merle. For Carol. For Sophia. For Judith. When you lose something important, you go looking for it. You always go back, even when there's nothing to go back to.

It was principal.

So either there was no one left, or no one worth coming back for. She didn't go back. That spoke volumes about who she was without having any of the conversations.

She'd tried leaving before too. Pack that full, in the woods all alone, lying to her doctor friend — her close doctor friend. No, she had no intenetion of coming back.

Still, if his brief insight into what life at that community was like, he wasn't convinced she'd last long solo either. You don't get taught how to survival in this world, you just did.

She had guts, he'd give her that, but he was starting to think that behind those smarts she was pretty stupid. Youth, he concluded. The thought made him feel squeamish, his growing age showing more than appropriate. He doubted he was years and years older than her, just old enough to know that sort of stupid walked hand in hand with being young.

Or younger.

Hell, he was still that sort of stupid too. He'd been dragging a dead man's baby, one Daryl was inclined to believe wasn't Rick's, for the good part of a year. If he hadn't made sure Merle was rotting right now, he wouldn't be surprised if his brother came back from the grave to smack the crazy out of him.

He got the fire going, waking Judith with a soft cooing. She was antsy at being disturbed, fussing with her dinner. He had to hold her tight on his lap to get her to sit long enough to eat, and he found himself gripping the spoon tighter when she would move her face away.

She'd been starving weeks before, eating anything Daryl gave her because anything was better than nothing. A near month with these people and she developed a palette. Mushed sweet potato and carrot was not a combination worthy of her under developed taste buds.

Daryl couldn't give a rat's ass if she didn't like it. She was going to eat it. Tantrum be damned.

Soon after a full, pissed off Judith sat snivelling as she swallowed the last of the food. He wiped her face with a wet wipe, checked her diaper, and then, despite the fact she was being a brat, he soothed her. He took her book and read to her, her little head underneath the crook of his head,as he read to her. She was smiling soon after, pointing and hitting her hands against the pictures.

"Misch?"

"Mice."

"Misch?"

"Mice, darlin'. Mice."

"Misch?"

"Na, table."

"Misch?"

"Table, Judy. Can ya say table?"

Big eyes looked up at his before breaking into a smile.

"Misch."

She was the devil he gave his soul to. This damn kid right here. He didn't argue and just continued reading. When they finished the one about the gingerbread man he noticed the stranger was still sleeping.

Much to Judith's dislike he closed the book and stood up, taking his hand in hers and the torch and walked. She glued herself to his side as they made their way, a certain relief spreading on her face as Daryl picked her up and walked up the stairs. His back stung but it wasn't unbearable.

Judith never liked the dark. She held on with a sore grip. His hand firm on the torch as she clung on to him, her face scrunching.

She was about to wail.

"Daddy."

He looked at her, shushing, "'S'okay."

She buried her head in the crook of his neck. When Daryl found her, the girl was still asleep. He put Judith down, giving the child the flashlight, her head shaking in protest. He knelt down beside the sleeping girl, moving the knife out the way before nudging her.

She stirred, eyes opening. It was a moment of unsolicited calm, a serenity in her features that Daryl thought suited her. A short lived experience. Panic set a second and Daryl watched as she clearly forgot where she was and who she was with, throwing herself against the bookcase. The sudden force was enough to move the thing, a number of the heavier books up top tumbled. Daryl found his face kissing hardback binding, hands covered his head on instinct as the few books fell to the floor.

Life was a lot safer, healthier, before meeting this woman.

He heard Judith crying, dazed from having his face punched by literature, and turned to see her unharmed. Tears streamed down her face at the sudden crash. He stood up, getting his balance, the obvious sting of an impending bruise present on his face, and went to calm her down.

The child had walkers scream near her face, saw death in all forms, instant to slow coming; witnessed a bullet tear through Daryl like a knife stabbing at uncooked meat, but nothing terrified her more than complete darkness. She dropped the flashlight when the books fell, the noise scaring her to hysterics. She clung at Daryl, who was telling her to stop crying, giving her looks that she knew better than to question.

They didn't need to attract anything outside. They were safe here and they didn't need to test fate. He held her close to him, rocking her in small gentle movements, her heart beat rhythmic.

Small fingers, fingers that were not his own, curled ontop of Judith's head. Both turned at the delicate intrusion. The girl now knelt beside Daryl, her brows furrowed, a silent request for the child to soften her cries to a halt. Against his personal will, Judith did just that, the baby's eyes wet but glistening.

"Judith, are you okay?"

She must be made of magic. Fairy dust, or some kind of under the table voodoo shit that he knew better than to question. Judith nodded, the frail baby's death grip looser on Daryl's shirt.

Daryl saw the girl clutch at her left side in contorted pain but she was smiling. A display of falsities all to calm the baby. Features warm and steady and everything Judith needed to see.

"It's very dark here, let's go back downstairs?" she said, "Right, Daddy?"

The urge to vomit at his new reference was strong. Daddies, in general, were just a grey are with him. He was going to have to tell her to stop with this whole 'Daddy' thing.

It made things complicated. Wrong. She needed to see that if she stuck around.

If she was sticking around.

Refusing, on principal, to answer to that, he waited for her to take her things and they both went back to their things. The fire was small, the embers patient for their return, hungry for substance to keep their flames alight. She sat down, Judith awarded with her full attention as Daryl brought the can of beans and opened it.

It was not much. Winter was here, nothing was alive. Paper as their plates, he fished out half the can and split that between them.

The meal was a silent affair on his part. She continued to dote on Judith, a large purple discolouration spreading from her brow to the beginnings of her cheek. Prune coloured and swollen, it was a bruise that matched the new one on his forehead. His hurt, a pleasant post numbing sensation biting his skin, but it didn't feel like how her's looked. He was on a lot of painkillers though, perhaps the comparison was biased to a point.

She hadn't touched her food. He stretched a hand out, eyes lax and on the child. Judith made the decision to ignore him, one was going to change and soon.

"Judy, c'mere."

The wrong girl answered him. She smiled though. It was genuine, a reflex, something he figured rare with her. She looked back at Judith, ready to continue their interrupted game of peak-a-boo.

"It's okay, she's not bothering me."

"Been playin' with her 'stead o' eatin'. Not had a chance t' touch ya food yet."

The food wasn't important. Daryl knew she thought that, knew she wouldn't say it either. She kissed Judith's cheek, her own cheeks raised as the little girl pecked her's right back.

"What's that called Judith?"

She tried so hard to remember the word. Daryl sat there, watching as Judith searched for it. She was blank faced as her short term memory drew nothing from her mind, and disappointment threatened to upset her again.

The girl answered before it happened.

"Kiss, Judith. Can you say kiss?"

"Kish."

"Yes, good girl." she got her to stand up, "Head over to Daddy now."

Defiance. It made him feel better seeing her sass the baby whisperer. She shook her head at the suggestion, wondering why her new BFF would even say such a thing when they were having so much fun.

"Judith, c'mere. She want's t' eat."

Again, she answered, "You should use my name when talking to her. It helps her understand."

Daryl hated when people told him what to do, something that only elevated when Judith was concerned. The urge to rebel against the statement was strong. He swallowed the up coming remarks, and took her advice as what it was: an attempt to help.

If this had been anything else, or if they had met sooner, he doubted he'd comply.

"Judith," he said, "C'mere. Brooke want's t' eat."

Judith didn't give a fuck if she wanted to eat or not. She could've had a whole fucking banquet next to her getting cold, the kid did not care. She wanted to play. She was damn adamant to do so.

"Yeah, she sure understood."

A roll of her eyes, "It really wasn't bothering me."

"Nah I know, 'cept you been bendin' o'er backwards for her since ya woke up. Plain ta see ya face is hurtin' and I haven' seen ya eat since we got here. Give yourself a damn minute, can play with her after."

He edged closer and took Judith's hand, much to the child's disappointment. He was not rough but there was no rebuttal, the baby sat next to him. Past experience told her when it was appropriate to argue, now an example otherwise.

She was annoyed sure, but she forgot about it soon enough when Daryl plonked her book on her lap. _Brooke_ , sat, crosslegged, mutinous to the obvious task of eating. Seemed like she didn't like being told what to do either.

Daryl sat there and looked at her looking at him. Fucking girl was an idiot, this right here was the reason she'd die by herself.

"Eat."

"I'll eat when I want."

He sighed, voice soft, "Ya wouldn't last."

Not soft enough.

"Excuse me?"

"On ya own. Don't take care o' yaself."

Her gaze was cryptic, he didn't need to figure her out to know she had a short fuse. He was staring at a bomb with detonation instructions in another language.

"Don't act like you know how to take care of yourself." She began, "I've rummaged through your stuff. The only things you own are a half soaked pack of straights, a lighter and a crossbow. And don't get me started on your back."

His ears perked up, "Back?"

She didn't bat a lash, "You don't get that sort of scaring at your regular Tuesday night bar crawl."

He sat there, stunned, unsure how to respond. She looked raw, exposed. As if she didn't know if she just said those things for real.

Below the belt? He didn't know if it counted as that if she knew nothing about him. It hurt, sure, but it hurt because she had no fucking idea what she was talking about.

So he didn't tell her she was wrong. That wasn't how you handled things, not right away. Rick told him that once.

There was something inherently wrong with this girl. It was like she was a one way train but without any idea where she was going. This wasn't post-apocalypse crazy or lost my mind madness.

He didn't know what this was.

"See her here." he said his head nudging to Judith. She didn't answer, but her attention was on him. He knew she regretted her out burst the minute she said it, the post chill of shame icing over her inner fire.

"She's skinny, but she ain't starved. She's small, but she's talkin'. Nearly lost her once o' twice, but she's here. Said ya seen my pack, I know ya seen her's. Full o' shit. Diapers, clothes, blankets. I look after mysel' for her. 'Cos otherwise, ain't much chance she got out here." he said, "So 'fore ya spit ya bullshit 'bout me not knowing nothing, give y'self a little sense o' perspective. If ya don' take care o' y'self, ya become a risk."

Nothing else was said right away. She didn't eat though. She wouldn't, not now, maybe when he wasn't paying attention. She was stubborn. She wasn't going to concede after that.

Excpet that she did.

She scoped the beans with her fingers, eating with her head down. Judith was still engrossed in her book, the pictures her latest vice. Daryl closed his eyes, fatigue rolling through him like tides kissing the the shore.

"I'm sorry."

He propped his eyes open, in no rush to see the girl in front of his gaze.

"'S fine."

The apology was sincere. He could feel it in the strained words, see it in her too firm expression. She was trying hard, too hard, to seem passive, stoic, but it was there. She was honest in that, but her opinion of him, her perceived judgment, was still unchanged.

It bothered him, sure. It was a good thing it did, he decided. It meant he cared enough about his pride to be upset when someone bruised it. Other people, people who had been through abuse like he had been through abuse, a lot of those people didn't think they deserved that kind of self pity. That healthy care for their sense of worth.

He didn't want to dwell on the hurt now, however. He was still trying to figure out what she was about.

"Why'd ya come back?"

A frown, "Excuse me?"

"When I passed out."

Pause, "I couldn't leave you there. It wasn't right."

"I woulda."

"And I wouldn't blame you. I nearly did. Nearly. I just, I didn't want to."

He thought that over, "Why'd ya take me to your camp. After ya shot me?"

"Because you had a baby."

"Baby?"

"Yeah."

"Don' think it matters if I got a baby o' not. Ya was protectin' yaself. So what's a baby got to do with that?"

She wiped her hand on her jeans, throwing the paper plate into the the flames.

"You said it a second ago, without you Judith's as good as dead. I shot one person in those woods, I wasn't prepared to kill two." she licked her lips, remnants of flavour swept clean on her tongue, "It wasn't right, isn't right."

Her attention aimed itself back to Judith. Daryl resisted shaking his head.

This was, fuck knows what this was.

She spoke, voice inaudible, something he almost confused for a hitch in the wind, the crack of crisp burnt paper, the shuffle of limbs. She modelled sadness well, her features soft, picturesque as the orange light of the fire mixed with the blue hues of her bruise. This girl was not reserved by nature, she tried too hard to hide herself in plain sight.

And she had the most beautiful, sad, sober smile he'd ever seen stitched on a person's face. She was a clown, covered in tough guy attire but a real baby underneath it all.

He was always wary of clowns. The smiles are always painted. Fake.

"I have no where else to go."

If he paid a little less attention, he would have missed it for sure.

Unlike her, his voice did not waver.

"You're where ya ought t' be."


	11. Boring By Association

Hey guys!

Sorry I'm late on the update, still moving! Here's the latest chapter, can't wait to hear what you think! Thanks for the reviews, follows and favourites. You're all cute!❤️

* * *

The day after she told him of Alexandria.

A year ago, two men drove straight to the Base gate. Guns greeted him as they requested, in kind, to talk to them all. It was the ballsiest thing Brooke had ever witnessed, both men getting out of the car, hands above their heads and complacent.

They got in of course. People there were far too curious for their own good. They said they came from a sister complex, one that was exactly like this one but in the outskirts of the capitol. Said things about looking for survivors, about creating a new world community.

They wanted them to do that too.

Wanted them to start taking people in who could survive, to start a trade route, perhaps combine one day.

Brooke thought their ideas were a bit of a stretch, but she remembered them. She remembered what they said. She couldn't remember who they were, or what their names were, or how long they stayed for exactly. She remembered where they came from: Alexandria, in the suburbs of Washington, a compound of survivors who wanted to take people in.

That was the important thing.

"They had strong walls. Fortified." she told Daryl.

"Been t' many places with strong walls. Don' mean they're safe."

"I'm not talking about shitty wooden fences like the ones we had, these were steel. Tall too. I saw pictures."

"'Gain, don' mean it's safe."

She got up, Judith wobbled beside her as she went round the corner to the travel section to look for a guide. She grabbed an 'A-Z of America' and flicked through pages, stopping when she saw a map of the Northeastern United States. Daryl was soon joined her, leaning in for a look by the bookshelf.

"You don't get it. It was safe. Safest thing I've ever seen. They had kids there."

He grunted, "Got kids everywhere. Kids still here."

"Not playing on the street. That's what I mean by safe. Safe enough for parents to leave their children out unsupervised."

"Places like that don' exist. I know. Takes one walker and then nothin's safe again."

She thrusted the map in his hand, "It's a shot."

He shook his head, "Poin'less."

Judith now hugged her leg. Her little limbs looked for something to balance on. Brooke leaned in to get a look at the map, her hand pointed to Washington D.C.

"It's better than nothing. Don't you want a place for Judith to grow up safe?"

"Tellin' ya girl, ain't no such place exists anymore. Said ya saw these people a year ago. Lot happens in a year. Might not even be there."

"They might still."

"Maybe, maybe not." He gave Judith a one over, hand petted her head as she played with the other maps on the shelf, "Can do this for hours."

"Well what's the harm in looking?"

He thought it through, "Ya wanna head t' Washington just t' look?"

"Why not? You in a rush to go anywhere else?"

"Nah, but w'at's the point?"

She picked up Judith. Baby was getting antsy with the lack of attention. The child grabbed at her hair, the matted greasy locks and in her signature tight bun. He took the book from her, eyes scanning the pages.

"We go there, we look for it, if it's not there we go on our way. If it is there you can check it out and see if you want to stay. If you don't, you and Judith keep going." she adjusted her grip on the girl, "Again, nothing lost, nothing gained."

Stone faced he mulled it over, looking for loopholes.

"W'at 'bout you."

She liked his questions. They were calculated, never without reason. He seemed to look for unturned bases, checked every corner for a hidden argument.

It infuriated her. She thought it admirable, but it pissed her off so much.

"What about me?"

"'S like ya said. Get there an' don' like it, then me and Judith go, w'at 'bout you?"

"If I like it I'll stay, if not, well, I don't know."

He grunted, "Don' sound so clear, this plan o' yours."

"I'm working with what I got. Any suggestions?"

A shrug, hands snapped the book shut, "Better than stickin' round 'ere. Should leave now, 'fore dark."

Her eyes widened. She wasn't used to being listened to, not when it came to stuff like this. She forced herself to swallow the surprise. It wasn't that much of a big deal.

"Are you okay to travel though? We can stay here until you're well enough?"

He walked round to where their stuff was. She put Judith down, watching as he dug for a cigarette in his pack. He lit it up, she watched as he sucked in a drag and answered her, cigarette between his lips.

"Now's good a time as any. Couple a days don' make a lot o' difference. Jack a car an' drive, won't be much walkin'."

"We're passing through six states, the roads are icy and it's not like we've got a self refilling gas tank."

He exhaled, smoke traveled out of his mouth lazy and serene. This didn't seem to bother him, "Not sayin' we're gettin' there t'moro."

"And I'm saying we're not getting there any time soon. Are you okay to travel or not?"

He nodded, picking up his crossbow and flinging it around his back. She saw his face flinch, it was involuntary action but it didn't inspire confidence. She sighed and put her hoodie on Judith, wrapping her tight and sticking her on the sling. She was glad the baby was small, the sling wasn't meant for someone her age. This going to be a problem when she got bigger.

If she was around for that.

With the baby pressed against her chest, she put on the puffer jacket and managed to zip it up most halfway. She couldn't help but feel a little out of her depth. They had no water, one can of beans, three pots of baby food, a dozen diapers, a map, a torch and a diminishing number of painkillers. It wasn't great to start with, but it was something.

Daryl finished his cigarette in record time, flicking the butt on the ground as he helped Brooke moved the obstacles she'd barricaded the entrance with. He smelt of smoke, it was unappealing, and she made a point to breathe deep when the winter air hit them both in the face. She was about to make her way straight to the first car in sight when he walked ahead, taking a turn in the opposite direction.

She frowned, keeping pace.

"Where are you going?"

He turned to her, a finger pressed between his lips and crouched next to some flowing bins. The snow was thick, the cold unforgiving. He started creeping through some alleyways when Brooke heard them.

People.

She stopped. Between an open space she saw him. It was Franklin. Franklin was there.

Franklin and Kelly from two doors down and Marcus and a couple more people from the Base. They were alive. They were heading to the library, they looked unarmed, they looked cold.

Daryl grunted, an attempt to get her to focus. She looked at him.

"They're from the Base."

Contemplation. He was giving her looks that screamed that now was not the time. And he was right.

"Friends o' yours."

Yes.

She shook her head.

"People I know."

She wanted to tell them she was alive. She wanted to ask them if they were okay, that Walt died and Sylvia too. She wanted to tell them that she was going to Washington, that they should go to, that together they had better shots of making it.

She didn't move. She was silent. She nudged Daryl to move ahead, she'd seen enough.

Numbers might help you in the long run, but she knew what would happen if she went over there. If they were together she'd have to watch as one by one they'd get picked off by the dead, the cold, others.

It was selfish. She didn't want to go with them, to be with them. It wasn't like she thought she was better or stronger than them, it wasn't that at all. She just knew she wanted to survive more than any of them there. The world, this world, wasn't meant for them and she didn't want to watch them die.

Sometimes, being right feels worse than being wrong.

Daryl didn't move right away. She cocked a brow as he knelt there, eyes on her. There was nothing threatening about it, nothing hostile in how he studied her. It was a quick few seconds, an abortion of the circumstances. It wasn't menacing, it wasn't curious, not really.

It was confused, and a little vexed.

She just crept past him. He followed, walking a good twenty minutes straight in silence before they reached the main road that lead from the town to the Base. He didn't ask her about why she didn't speak to them. It was as if her leaving was enough of a clarification not to invite questions on the matter.

When they reached the town he spoke, "Should grab some food 'fore we hit the road."

"There's a corner shop, right there. Only place I can think of that won't have anyone snooping around. Not as much food left there, we raided it over and over."

That look again. He started walking, "How's Judith?"

She looked down, walking next to him, a hand on Judith's head, "She's quiet."

"Always quiet when we're out."

The shop was easy to get into. There was a gaping hole where a large glass window used to be, its remains shattered to bits. Four walkers were inside, four that Daryl took out before they even knew they were there. Brooke watched as he shot the silent arrows into each of their skulls, none of them making a sound as they hit the snowy floor.

She watched as he went inside, tapping the door to draw any hidden ones out. All clean. He stepped inside and grabbed at the four arrows from the undead he slain, adding them back to his quiver.

He may have been out of action for a near month, but the man was seasoned. In all honesty Brooke figured she witnessed a master in his element. It put her skills against a shameful comparison, she may as well stand there and do nothing.

She didn't though. Knife at the ready she went inside. She turned to Daryl.

"Watch the door, I'll grab whatever I can find."

He nodded, "Hurry up, 's cold."

There was't much which was no surprise. She walked around, searching for anything edible, useful. She scored some batteries, searched the bodies for ammo, anything, that could be of use. One of them had a pocket knife which she took but that was it.

Everything else was mouldy. There were seven cans of cream spinach, and a jar of unopened peanut butter which she grabbed. Underneath a gross looking croissant were three cans of soup: two pea and ham, one chicken noodle. The last thing she found was some vanilla custard, she figured if it was tinned it was worth a chance at eating.

Her bag full, she grabbed at some wet wipes she saw on the counter and walked over to Daryl. He had looked over a few times, but this had been a speechless affair. He had his crossbow at the ready when she was next to him.

"Couple o' walkers by the corner o' that buildin' there."

"Can take them out easy."

"Na, no need. Need a car now anyway."

She turned her head in the opposite direction, "There's one there."

He smirked, "Jus' wanna get and go, huh?"

"You want to stick around? I can barely feel my fingers."

"Jus' sayin' ya sound real eager t' leave. Got anything t' do with ya friends there?"

"It's got nothing to do with that. The baby's cold."

He looked over at Judith, "Ya a'ight Judy?"

She felt her nod. Brooke looked down to see her squished by her chest, face flushed from the cold. He titled his head to try and see his daughter.

"She's okay, she's just cold. She shouldn't be out here long."

A nod, "Gonna grab a car."

They headed out to the street, picked a taut had seen better days. Spacious and covered in snow, it was a putrid shade of a green with a large scratch where someone along one side and a deep dent in the other. Testament to an obvious collision from it's past.

She was about to break into the car but found Daryl two steps ahead. He stuck the tip of his knife into the driver's side of the car door, wedging a small space between. He left the knife stuck there, pulling his pack off and grabbing a small metal rod. She recognised it for an old antenna, watched as skilled fingers moulded a small hook that slid into the gap. The hook looped the lock up, the door accessible.

She was stunned. That was fast, faster than she figured acceptable. Few people knew how to break into cars so effortlessly, apocalypse be damned. He put his knife back in his hilt, threw the wire back in the pack and then opened the door, reaching inside to unlock it completely.

He sat himself inside and went ahead at hotwiring it, not bothering to look up at her. She made her way around to the front seat, the cold crueler inside than out. The interior was in much better condition than the outside and she was thankful for it.

She looked over at what he was doing, frowning.

"This is a Honda Civic." she said.

He didn't look up, "Yeah."

"Looks pretty new, 2006, 7 maybe?"

He didn't bother looking up, "Probably 5, can tell from the size."

"You can't hot wire a Civic."

That earn this gaze on her's, "What?"

She nodded, "I'm pretty sure you can't hot wire a Civic. Don't the alarms go off?"

He blinked, she saw him go within himself. His mind blitzed through his memory in assured confidence.

"Nah."

She didn't agree.

"Daryl, I think the alarms go off. I'm sure."

"Look, ain't my first time. Don' it plenty, 's fine."

She turned, hand on Judith's head, "Daryl, get the manual out, you can't hotwire a Civic. I'm sure."

He looked at her, annoyed, "Don' gotta do nothin'. I'v hot wired Civics 'fore. I know w'at I'm doin'."

She rolled her eyes, a loud, poignant groan escaping her lips as she opened the glove compartment. She found the manual. It was underneath the car keys.

Must've been a spare. Must've been a miracle. Either way, she was grateful to which ever idiot locked themselves out of their car.

"Daryl."

He looked pissed off.

"What's it now, girl?"

"I found the car keys."

He looked up for the last time. He was about to do it too, wires between ready fingers that were about to make them a sitting walker siren. She handed it to him. He didn't bother with thanking her and just stuck it in the ignition.

The car started with a moaned. The machine lurched and crawled through the piles of snow, wheels unsafe against the frost. It was quiet, the silence uncomfortable and thick. She got under his skin with the car questioning, he under her's over his defiance on the matter.

Three and a half minutes after the car started, he parked on the side of the road and grabbed the manual from her lap.

She raised her brows. He noticed and ignored it. She sat and watched him, chest tight from the possibility of being wrong.

He flipped through a few pages before spreading the booklet wide. His concentration was furious, his eyes skimmed the page, taking all the information in before they hardened a fraction. He shut it, opened the glove compartment and shoved it inside. The action was fidgeted, aggressive almost. Without another word he continued driving, his grip on the wheel tight.

A little while, he spoke.

"I've hot wired Civics before."

She resisted the urge to both smirk and roll her eyes. Without urgency, she opened the glove compartment and grabbed the manual again. Her hands repeated his motions of flipping through the pages, her eyes searched for the section he just read.

She was not disappointed.

There, on page 'VII', was a rather detailed description of the implications of hot wiring your 2005 Honda Civic. She didn't bother reading forward, she didn't need to. She put it back in the glove compartment.

"This is a newer one. The ones from the nineties were easy to start like that, so you probably never did one of the newer ones before."

He digested the hypothesis, "Probably. Didn' know a soul who'd drive one o' these. Borin' cars."

A coy smile broke across her face, "Reliable millage and easy handling bore you? I wouldn't have guessed."

"You some kinda sponsor? Talk like your an expert."

"No, just know enough to not tory and hot wire one."

"Sounds like ya are." He said, "That make's ya borin' by association."

She shook her head. In earnest. She wasn't boring, well at least not with cars.

"They're just one of these cars I always saw around. I worked in a garage in the summer, they had at least two of these in all the time."

"Yeh?"

"Yeah. You're right though, dull cars. Not something I'd run to get if I won the lottery."

He looked over, "W'at wouldya get?"

She answered without hesitation, "A mustang." She amended the answer, "Or a Camaro."

That earned a double back, "Which year?"

"'69."

"Race car."

"Yes. First car I ever fell in love with."

He gave a low whistle, "'69 Camaro. Don' make 'em like that anymore."

They didn't make anything like that anymore. They were all dead.

"Been in one?"

She nodded, "Drove one once."

"Drove one?"

"Yeah, for my birthday. Didn't get to for very long, and the car had a problem with the gears, so it didn't handle great, but I didn't care." she smiled, memory filling itself between the spaces of her mind, "It wasn't about the car, it was about the ride."

He smiled, "Know the feelin'."

The since settled agin, calmer. She felt the impending awkwardness threaten to tense the mood. She didn't like the quiet, not with people she didn't know.

"What about you?" She asked, "What would you get?"

"Wouldn' mind a Camaro." he said, he thought it over, "Mustang though. Old one, don' care which."

"Mustangs are beautiful cars."

"Not many like 'em." He said, "More o'a biker, but I wouldn' mind a Mustang."

"Don't know much about bikes except the basics."

"Worked in a garage but don' no nothing on bikes?"

She went a bit pink, "Everything I know was from the garage."

He nodded, "If ya like Mustangs and Camaros, ya might wanna hop on one when ya get the chance."

"Noted."

"They were good cars. Not many I woulda liked to own as much."

"No Ferraris or Lamborghinis?"

"All speed, no drive."

She scoffed, he turned and raised a brow. Given the chance she'd still blitz in one, just for the thrill of it. He probably would too. No one said no to that.

Every car geek turned into a hipster when they were asked that. He like motorcycles, for God's sake. He was no exception.

It went quite again. Thankfully, he spoke next. Voice relaxed, as if he didn't notice the dwindled conversation.

"Like cars, huh."

"Yeah, I studied them." She told him, "Well race cars actually."

"You studied race cars?" he said, "Where?"

"Boston. I took sporting automotive engineering and design."

A pause. He looked surprised, "You studied race cars?"

She frowned, "Why is that a surprise?"

He shrugged, "That somethin' ya can study?"

"People learn about normal cars." She always got defensive on the subject, "I learnt about race cars. Same thing, just a different specialty."

He shook his head, the comment went through him. She could tell.

"Thought you was some kind of child psychologist or social worker or somethin'."

"Nope, cars. I'm pretty much useless in everything but that."

"Didn' take on anythin' on the side? Home Ec or nothin'?"

This was taxing.

"No, why?"

He hiked the heating up, "Nothin'. Ya just good with the kid."

Delivered like an insult but taken as a compliment. Perhaps insult was not the right word, the delivery of the statement had grudging undertones. No, that there, that was envy.

This wasn't about here stupid course —No one left in Earth to kid, she knew it wasn't a serious degree. This was about the baby, his baby, and little Judith's fondness of her.

She didn't dwell on it because she thought it was a ridiculous statement. If he was upset Judith got along with her then he was thick. The child had learnt to like her, the process of several weeks with Brooke breaking her initial weariness. Judith was under Daryl's spell and adored him with everything she had.

It's not like he had to deal with her rejection for four weeks straight. This new found bound between them was just that, new. She shook her head.

"I'm just patient." she responded, giving herself points for not sounding agitated, "She's a smart child. Full of life. And she loves you a lot."

He didn't talk about it. The air wasn't easy anymore. The silence was coming.

"Yeah, so," he said turning the wheel, "Which way t' Washington?"


	12. Graveyard In The Snow

Hey everyone!

WALKING DEAD FINALE TONIGHT!

Oh and here's another chapter!

Thanks for all the love, reviews, follows and favourites! Be sure to let me know what you think!❤️❤️❤️

* * *

The journey was not unpleasant.

They ended up leaving the car. An electrical tower had fallen on the road, the vehicle stagnant. They spent the night in the Civic, heating on full blast as they waited for daylight to greet them again.

For the last four days they travelled through the woods. The cold an angry temptress, bitter and ready to freeze them off piece by piece. Brooke had taken to killing walkers and taking their clothes, and Daryl would've judged her for it if he wasn't so damn cold himself. They burned the bodies for warmth at night, dry wood was scarce beneath the snow.

Daryl still couldn't place his new companion. He still held a firm belief that something, what ever that something was, was off with her. Still she wasn't unbearable, the opposite in fact.

She was quiet a lot of the time. She divided her attention to Judith well, never mommy-coddling her. She kept up with him, killed walkers, made shelter, found food. Was she an expert on everything, hell no, but he didn't worry as much about her fucking everything up as he thought he would.

She was capable. She was ready to learn. Hell, she looked at him like an expert. She was always asking him why he did the things he did, expanding her knowledge and all.

He believed survival wasn't something you were taught, but learning the basics of anything never hurt anyone. She was that kind of girl. She wanted to pull her weight and she didn't honk her horn about it.

She didn't sleep though. Didn't eat much either, though that was to be expected. Food was a luxury now, he figured she treated it as such. She was pragmatic that way.

The sleeping, however, always alone and never at night. She must've been going on three, maybe four hours a day. Quick naps when Judith needed changing or feeding. Daryl always found her nearby, knife by her side, head covered with her hood, dozing.

He knew she knew of his observing. He was the one that would wake her when she fell asleep. They couldn't be stuck in one place for too long. Besides, he didn't want to deal with her getting frostbite because she snoozed in the cold.

It wasn't making her any stupider or dangerous. She didn't sleep but she was still sharp. He decided this was habitual to her, her lack of routine was how she functioned. She still jumped when he woke her though, still lurched away.

By the fifth day, they were on the outskirts of Worcester. They were closer than he'd like; there were more walkers when you were near places of post dense urbanisation. They tainted the snow, frozen, barely moving, dead but still living.

He never knew he hated snow until the world ended. White like sheets, ready to be stained. That's what they all were now, stains.

Judith seemed to agree with him. She didn't like how cold the pretty fluffy white stuff was. Brooke was trying to change her mind, was telling her all the fun stuff they could do with it.

"If you lie down on your back, and move your arms, you can make angles in the snow. Isn't that neat?"

The kid had no fucking clue what the hell she was talking about. Daryl had her on the sling, it was his turn to take her. Judith was faced forward, her body in direct view of everything in front of her.

Which included the girl handing her a fist full of snow near her face. The baby looked at Daryl in a near plea. He intervened.

"Kid don't give a shit if ya make cool stuff with it."

She looked up at him, pout present in her face. She removed it promptly, "Come on Judith, snow's fun, right?"

She shook her head. Daryl smriked. Brooke on the other hand sighed and dropped the snow, dusting the flakes off of her red fingers.

"Suit yourself Judy, but I'm telling you snow is fun."

"Goin' be a while 'f ya want to change her mind."

She took the lead again, boots crunching through the dead vegitation and cold earth, "She's just scared because she's never really played in it before."

"Not like she's got a chance t'."

"Maybe one day, you never know she might."

"Not 'ere."

"No shit, not here. Maybe if we knew no walkers were around."

"Haven't seen any for a while."

She stopped and thought, looking at the baby with a smile, "Hmm, maybe there's time for a quick one."

Quick one?

He frowned. She wasn't going to be stupid because she wanted to prove a point, was she?

"W'atcha goin' do? Make a snow angle?"

"Yes."

"Ya fuckin' retarded?"

That did it. If she thought about doing it then, she sure as hell was doing it now. Her head raised a fraction, her sign of protest, before she walked a little brisker to a spot with few trees.

She did that, the head thing, when she felt challenged. It was another one of her oddities. It was almost comical if it wasn't so damn pretentious.

He saw her check the ground, inspected it for anything dangerous, before turning.

"Hey Judith," There was an excitement to her voice that had little to do with the fun and more to do with rebellion, "I'm going to make a snow angel now."

No she damn wasn't.

"Stop bein' stupid."

"I'm not being stupid Daryl, I just want to show her."

"'S just snow. 'S no point forcin' her t' like it."

"I'll be quick."

He shook his head, "Ain't savin' your ass if somethin' gets ya."

"Wouldn't count on it."

She was crazy. He didn't know if he wanted Judith to see that kind of batshit looney she was being. Kid watched her though, mesmerised, large green eyes taking the figure laying down in front of her in. Brooke's arms and legs spread as far as they could before coming back to her sides. She repeated the motion three times, on the third cycle she sat herself up right and stood up.

Her back was wet. She'd get cold. Stupid girl.

She was right though. Judith looked at the disturbed patch on the ground, confused at the new shape. He saw her, her eyes calculated, her mind dazed at the concept of making shapes out of snow.

She looked up at him, smile spread on her face. She had a look asking him if she could try. He leant down and kissed her head instead.

There was no way in hell she'd be doing that here.

"Ya happy now?"

The girl nodded, smug, "Think she might have a change of opinion."

"Don' care w'at she's thinkin', she ain't rollin' round in the snow. She'd get sick."

"Fair enough, spoil sport." She patted herself down, excess snow falling from the creases of her clothes. She turned, picking up her knife that fell during her escapade. No sooner did she bend down when she turned her head, grin now replaced with the creases of a formed frown.

The movement caught him on guard. She only tensed like that when she saw something, something strange. In this life strange meant dangerous, he wasn't going to guess if it was or wasn't. Hand by his knife hilt, crossbow ready on his back, he was prepared.

Whatever she saw she didn't take her eyes off. She crouched, knife gripped tight as she made her way to whatever startled her. Daryl's gaze followed her, his body close behind, footsteps precise in keeping her pace.

She got up, walked with a practiced care, and made her way between snowy trees to an open plain. Through the woods, illuminated by the winter sun, the snow gave off muted hints of colour between the whites. Upon further inspection he realised the colours were not of a natural source, far from it.

This was a camp. On the ground, covered in bright reds, yellows, blues, the snow sprinkled on top of them, were people.

Dead people.

If any one of them were walkers, _if all of them were walkers_ , then she'd just lead them into a spring trap slaughter fest. His crossbow was in front of him, his arms raised at a high awkward angle to accommodate the child strapped to him.

This place was not safe, this grave yard in the snow.

They needed to leave.

She realised this too. They were still far enough out to make a break for it, they both saw each other and nodded to retreat. Her curiosity was sated. This was not worth exploring.

He made his way between the trees and out with caution. When he turned to check on her, he found her stood still. Slack, eyes on a body.

She tried his patience. This was enough.

He walked back over, smacking her arm with the back of his hand. She looked at him before speaking, her voice soft.

"Someone killed them."

He observed the body. A woman, older than both of them, eyes looking up unblinking. She was white, the kind of pale death painted on people. She'd been dead a long time, her skin fell, the decomposition of her body present in her gaunt frozen features. Between her knitted brows, a gaping hole promised her death as undisturbed.

He looked around. If they were walkers they would've moved to them by now. Not a sound. No movement.

"Not safe. Gotta move."

"We should burry her."

He grabbed her arm and spun her so she was looking right at him, "We gotta go. Now."

She was vacant. Her eyes had the sort of dullness he knew was not inclined to the mentally present. He'd seen that look, that not quiet there gleam, before.

Gone was the fire. It was distant in her eyes, you couldn't feel the heat, as if behind several layers of tempered glass. Muted, blurred.

It terrified him. A slow, building sort of terror that spread from his mind through to his core. He swallowed it like bile, held back the urge to shout at her and tell her to get a fucking grip.

It was, thank God, short lived. No sooner did his words sink in when he saw the fog lift. Her gaze sharpened, her thoughts no longer so far away. The transition was fast, fast enough to miss the whole thing, to question if it happened at all, like a play against his intuition.

But Daryl knew.

Daryl saw it.

She nodded, her head bounced with a force too brisk. She shook her arm free, walked ahead without a word. His eyes rested on the corpse, transfixed on the bullet wound on her forehead.

Even he forgot what _dead_ dead people looked like.

It was rare to see them so stationary.

Hand on Judith's head, other holding the crossbow, he passed the trees a second time and left the morbid plane. No words were mixed, no words would be he thought. She trudged through, knife at the ready, cautious as ever, but with a thick aura of melancholy around her.

They were far from any town when the sun set, taking to the road for shelter. He didn't have to ask, she was already a step ahead, breaking into a spacious black Land Rover. He watched as she took off the shroud underneath the steering wheel, turned on a switch, grabbed a screwdriver he didn't even know she had from her pack, jam the flat end into the ignition and manually start the car. It wasn't going anywhere, it didn't need to, they just needed the heat.

She got into the back, flattening the seats so they'd have enough room to sleep. Daryl climbed in, closed the door behind him and joined her, unclipping Judith. He reached forward and cranked the heating as high as it would go, checking the gas and battery in the process. The car was fucked but it worked. Shame, it was convient.

She was quiet, not unusual, but she was quiet with Judith. They sat in the car, doors locked, cold, and cruelly quiet. The baby was sat on her lap, her favourite book open, the girl reciting the rhymes from memory. Her tone lacked luster, Judith became frustrated. She resorted to singing to her, soft, off key, gentle singing.

Daryl was working on his crossbow when she started. He didn't care if she started belting so long as it wasn't too loud. He looked up when he recognised the tune. Her recital was not one of expected classics like "Hey Diddle Diddle" or one of the songs the purple dinosaur sang to the kids. She sang "November Rain".

Gun's 'n Roses "Novemeber Rain".

When was the last time he heard that?

Mid way through she stopped, her grip on Judith curled. He realised her defensive stance was a response to him staring. He then realised he was staring and, neck pink from the reflex, he forced his eyes away.

Well course he would be staring. Not at her, it wasnt about her, it was about the song. He'd been taken back, he couldn't remember the last time that happened to him, the last time a memory just threw itself open in his mind.

He was in Georgia. It was hot, Merle was with him and he wasn't high. This was the beginning of his military days, he was better then, did drugs less. They were outside, radio playing, both leant against Merle's truck, beers balanced on the hood, cigarettes in their mouths and just talking. It was ordinary, dull actually. They talked about parts for Merle's bike, talked about girls Merle fucked, talked about a lot of Merle, but it was a good day. He didn't know if it they'd listened to the song, he didn't know if they'd listened to the band, but he was back there. For a split second he was with Merle.

"Sorry, I'll stop."

He shook his head, hoping he didn't sound to earnest, "Don'. 'S fine."

She was quieter. He had to strain to listen. But again, he felt his past lull him back to that day in the sun. Back with Merle talking shit. It would come to him in waves, the memory would start and end and repeat, it would not progress. It didn't need to.

He thought about Merle a lot. Thought about him everyday, but he never missed him, not really. Now, he listened to her sing, pitchy, she messed up a lot of the words, but it unearthed something he thought he buried inside himself.

It was more than sadness, it was pain. It burnt. Irritated his chest to the point that he felt starved for oxygen. His eyes stung, he was aware of every wet molecule bonding together and distorting his vision. He had a lump he couldn't swallow down because it stopped the air he craved for pulsing through his body. It flooded him, drowned him, suffocated him until he forced himself to suppress the insatiable urge to gasp.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up, blinked back anything that resmebled that pain, choked it down despite the hurt. He nodded, clearing his throat.

"Fine."

She shifted. Judith was asleep in her arms. He didn't know how long she sung for. Didn't know if he was happy or disappointed she stopped.

He crawled forward, helped her set the girl down on the padded seat, her tiny body wrapped tight in that hoodie of hers. Acting on habit, he kissed Judith's forehead, her face relaxed, her small lips parted ever so slightly as she slept.

They needed to find food for her soon. He added it to his mental list of things to do tomorrow. The torch was starting to flicker, they would need to find batteries too.

He turned to Brooke, "Can rest if ya want."

She nodded, "It's okay. You sleep. I'll keep watch."

"We're fine in 'ere. Turn the torch off, shouldn' bring attention t' ourselves."

She didn't respond. He decided to address it.

"Ya don' sleep."

She frowned, "I sleep."

"Durin' the day. Not at night."

She shrugged, "I don't like sleeping at night. It's not safe."

He weighed the argument, "Just as safe as durin' the day. 'Cept less people are out at night."

She wasn't paying much attention. She was sat with her knees to her chest, her gaze at the window that had fogged up from the heat.

"Ya afraid o' the dark or somethin'?"

"Yes."

That threw him. The answer couldn't be that simple could it?

"'S just the dark."

"It's not the dark." She said, "It's what's there that I can't see."

She looked at him now, reached over at the torch and switched it off. Blackness. His senses caught off guard by the sudden absence of light.

He felt her grab and jerk his arm forward. The light was on, without warning. She crouched there, hand on his arm, eyes on his eyes.

"See what I mean?"

He did. He didn't think it proved much of a point though, "Things gettcha durin' the day too. 'S no poin' bein' scared o' whatcha can't see."

She let go and sat back down again, "Easy for you to say. You're a one man killing machine."

"Don' make much difference. Still human. One o' these days I'm goin' die like the rest o' them."

She smiled, "Bet you'd be harder to kill then."

"Dead?"

"As a walker."

"Nah, won't be. Prob'ly do it m'self, make sure I don' turn."

"Be a bad day when you die Daryl, closest thing to a clean up crew this world has."

He shook his head, "Don' care for the killin'."

"No?"

"Only thin' that matters 's the girl."

She looked at Judith. The fire was coming back in her. He could feel it.

He figured he push some more, "Why'd ya want to burry her?"

The torch flickered. Her eyes widened a fraction, and, as per, she caught herself again. She recollected herself in an instant, her features smooth. The glow of the torch gave her skin a marbled quality to it, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, they looked like stone against the light.

She looked back to her spot in the window, "She just, I don't know. I didn't like her there."

"S' ya wanted t' burry her."

"I didn't want to look at her." She said, "At any of them."

He believed her. The remark was cold. He remembered the look she had, he decided it wasn't as distant as he first thought.

He'd seen it before. He'd never given it, it was special, rewarded to those of a certain caliber. There were specifications for that kind of look.

Rick used to get it, it would come to him and stay with him for an extended duration of time. It was different to the madness that sickened his mind, it was personal yet detached. Carol would get it too, her's was deeper, painful, brief, it would plague her and be done. He recalled Merle again, he only ever looked like that once when someone mentioned _her_.

It was greater than loss, he decided. It was an unrequited yearning. An infinite unfulfillment.

"Why?"

"I just didn't. She was dead." she said, "Sometimes you don't like seeing that."

He nodded, "Ya forget they're people."

"No. I never forget that."

"Then w'at?"

She didn't answer. She didn't want to. Daryl felt a chill, his hands notably colder all of a sudden. He went to check that the heater was on. It was, but it wained.

"'S cold."

She nodded, "I'm worried it'll get too cold for her."

He reached over and held Judith in his arms. She stirred, her body relished the new found warmth. He looked over at the girl.

"C'mere, 's warmer."

"It's okay, I'm fine over here."

He sighed. He was trying.

"Brooke," his voice was light, unaccustomed to using the name, "C'mere."

She was going to fight. Going to. The motion was automatic, she was going to fight.

But she didn't.

She crawled, slid almost, by his side with the torch. Again, without thinking, she reached over to pet Judith's hair. Daryl watched as she showered her with affection, something she did whenever she was near her. She sat next to him after with the torch in hand, looking ahead of her at nothing in particular.

"Ya don' need t' worry."

"Hmm?"

"'Bout sleepin'. Can sleep 'f ya want, I'll be awake."

She paused, "Don't worry about it Daryl. I'll sleep when I sleep."

"An' the light?"

She looked at him, her lashes curtains that hid her thoughts. She had big eyes, he hadn't seen them up close like this. Big brown eyes that looked black as nightfall in the dark car, opaque, unreadable.

He saw the fire again.

Then he saw nothing. In a microsecond the sound of the torch switching off accompanied the darkness. It was the kind of dark that people feared, the blindness that comes when you know your eyes are open but they show you as much as when they're closed.

Give it time and he'd see. The shapes, the varying shades of shadow, the cold glare of moonlight, white and upsetting against the familiar black. Sure enough, pupils dilated, vision emerged, he began to see.

Light, or rather the absences of it, made things seem different. The car felt colder, but he'd wager against it. Where they sat looked bigger, but it wasn't. He turned, she was a part of the darkness, only her profile was outlined in the soft light.

This was what she was, he decided. The little of her he saw was the little she showed him. The light just emphasised it, drew out the truth with ease.

Again she looked ahead. He looked ahead too. They sat there for sometime, neither sleeping. She out of choice.

Sleep wasn't coming to him. He wasn't going to force it. He sat with his eyes closed, and just waited.

After a while, after a long while, after a near hour, perhaps two, perhaps three, she spoke.

"I should've buried you."

He frowned. This was not to him, this was not to the car. This was to the darkness. This was, whatever this was, confession.

He could hear it.

Those four words thickened the air. He didn't understand how someone could say something with such a lightness, but have it weigh so heavy. He breathed in slow, the cold air rough.

When he breathed out, he felt sleep take him. When he woke up, cracks of yellow sunlight cooing him, she was asleep. She had her head on his shoulder, her body curled by his side.

Her mouth parted at a slant, steam rising from her every exhale as her breath embraced the cold air. The cheek closest to him pressed by his arm, the creases of his shirt imprinted on her skin. Her eyes, the ones that carried the deep purple bags, were shut loosely, and he saw the remnants of the fading bruise she procured from the library.

Everyday when he woke he'd get up and go. They would wake, and they'd be gone. His internal clock was precise, it was the early hours of the morning. Instead, despite it all, he closed his eyes, curled his arms tighter around the snoozing child, and sat there.

She only got three hours, maybe four, a day. He could give her another. Another wouldn't hurt.


	13. 912

Heyyy,

I'm still recovering from the finale.

Here is a chapter for the pain.

Thanks so much for the reviews, follows, favourites and love. I love it when you guys tell me what you think! ❤️

* * *

The concern he gave for her sleep, irked her.

She knew the first time he woke her later than normal that it was deliberate. They didn't talk about it, it was pointless. He had let her sleep, sacrificed a couple precious hours of daylight to let her recharge.

She felt bad for being angry the first time. But that had been the first time. The next morning was the same.

As was the next.

As was the one after.

And the one after that.

One night, she was adamant to stay awake until he woke. She managed the night with ease, it was not fatigue that bothered her in the dark. The minutes after sun rise were torture, as if someone had flipped a switch inside of her and sleep was all she craved.

She slept soon after. He didn't wake her. She awoke fresh, angry but rested.

Who the hell did he think he was? People in this world didn't give other people leeway or free passes, not without a reason. You didn't just sympathise with people you just met. This whole thing made her feel like she owed him something, and she didn't like it.

Because the extra hours were helping her. They made her feel better. They also made her feel like she wasn't in control and that terrified her.

She decided if she slept. She decided if she didn't. It was her choice, she needed that choice.

Even the illusion of it.

It was probably the one thing she couldn't stand about him. That and the smoking. She brought it up as they made their way through a suburb a couple miles past Auburn. She walked over a destroyed bicycle rack, scores of identical houses around them, her eyes on him as he prepped himself for another smoke.

"You know," she said, "That stuff's bad for you."

He looked at her. She almost laughed. He had the cigarette between his lips, the lighter cradled between his palms as he lit the cancerous death weapon. He glanced at her with a look of pure distaste, his eyes closing as he sucked in the smoke.

"Don' give a _fuck_ if it's bad." he said, gruff, "I like it."

She grinned, she couldn't help it. If that wasn't a good enough reason not to quit, she didn't know what was.

"Of all the things here, you want to die from a shitty habit?"

"Better than bein' walker chow." he cocked a brow, "Ya ever try?"

"Yes, I hated it. It's gross."

He shrugged, walking on ahead, "Don' care much if I'm gross."

"What if Judith picks up the habit?"

He slowed his pace, the scenario playing in his mind, "She won'."

"What if she does?"

"'S her own fault. Won' be handin' her any to get her started."

She looked over at the child. She was asleep, her face pressed against Daryl's chest, her cheeks pink from the cold. He wore his jacket backwards when he had her, the stitched wings still a sight that unsettled Brooke's nerves.

"I think you should quit though," she said, "It's not good for you Daryl."

"Don' gotta worry 'bout my health girl," he sucked the last of the cigarette, "Quit when I wanna quit."

Hypocrite. She rolled her eyes, "How long have you been smoking?"

He flicked the butt with an exhaled sigh, "On and off, since I was 'bout twelve."

"Twelve?"

"Mmm, wasn' addicted or nothin' til this started."

"So like social smoking?"

He nodded. She frowned anyway.

"Twelve?"

"Yeh an' w'at?"

"It's a little young."

He ignored her. A couple of walkers made their way towards them, both a sizeable distance apart. She went ahead and got rid of them.

She waited for him to reach her. He caught up, his pace casual. There was no alarm in his stance, no urgency in the way he moved. He reached her and stood, his trained eyes checked the walkers in the snow.

She went ahead and continued the conversation, "How'd you even get hold of cigarettes at that age?"

He spotted a fanny pack on one of them, bending to check it, "Wasn' hard." he said, "'Sides, first time I smoked was with my brother."

"Don't think I'd pass a smoke to my brother."

"Ya got a brother?"

"Yeah."

"Older?"

"Younger. A lot younger, he's twelve years younger than me." She smiled, "He's a good kid."

Daryl furrowed his brows. His eyes squinted. Brooke looked at him and saw that despite his trademark serious pout that feauted on his complexion, a sizable, understandable mirth settle on his face.

"How old are ya?"

"Twenty Three."

"Ya right, that is a lot younger."

She cocked a brow, "How old are you?"

"Don' know. Stop keepin' track o' days, could be years older than ya."

He was done with the fanny pack, dropped it on the ground and made his way again. She walked close behind.

She, unlike most, could not stop counting the days since the outbreak started. Brooke held on to that last shred of denial. She refused to believe that time, the loss of it, the redundant progression of days, to months, to weeks, was obsolete now.

It had been 912 days since the outbreak began. It had been 977 since she last saw her family. It had been 91 days since Oliver died.

Time told her how long she'd lasted. Time was the only thing of the old world she wish stayed with this one. All she had left was an ever growing tally of days passed, days that she recorded within herself with criminal accuracy.

She could, without much thought, tell him his exact age with ease.

"How old where you when this started?"

The answer was automatic, "35."

"And when's your birthday?"

"February 5th. Why?"

"You're 37."

He turned to look at her. Against the backdropped of rotted houses and snow his dark hair looked raven.

"37 huh?"

She nodded, "Yup, 38 soon. It's Novemeber 23rd."

"No kiddin'." He looked straight ahead, "Feels like this shit started yesterday."

"To some."

"Used t' keep track o' the days when it first started. After a while tho' ya forget. When everyone 'round ya does too it stops matterin' as much."

She disagreed. Everyone of those 900 odd days weighed heavy on her frail psyche. She pushed the thought away.

"Guess that means you don't know Judith's birthday then?"

"Soon." he said, "She was born in the spring. Don' know when, but was after winter."

"Walt said she's around a year and a half."

"Recon so. She ain't over two, that I'm guessin'."

Brooke's vision floated onto the little girl. Still asleep, one of Judith's hands clung onto Daryl's shirt. Tiny fingers wrapped themselves against the tattered fabric of the worn out flannel, a patch of wetness pooled under her drooling mouth.

From this angle, she saw the parallels between them. There was something very Daryl about her features when she slept. A couple of nights ago, the night she attempted the all nighter, she watched them both sleeping and noticed it. It was the lack of relaxation acquired with sleep, she gathered. That pseudo-alertness mixed with the seriousness of rest.

"She looks like you."

He slowed, "Judith?"

"Mmm."

Ahead a blockade of cars greeted them, stagnant. They'd have to climb up, a simple task. Daryl sat on the hood of the car closest, a blue Sidan, traveling upwards with caution. He lent a hand to Brooke, who shook her head and climbed up herself.

They made their way down, Brooke jumping the last car as Daryl slid, a hand on Judith's head. Her jacket caught on the side mirror of the car she'd jumped off. He spoke as she unhooked herself.

"She don' look like me."

She smoothed the jacket, half absorbed in the conversation, "She looks like her mother then?"

"See some o' her in her, not a lot."

"But none of you."

"No."

She shrugged. They were side by side now.

"I think she does. You guys pull the same face when you sleep."

"Ain't got nothin' t' do with looks."

"Yeah, well, I see you in her. Bits and pieces."

"There ain't."

"Not lots, but it's there." she said, "I don't think kids ever look exactly like their parents anyway."

A pause, "Think ya right. She don' look much like her real daddy neither."

She stopped in the snow, a momentary, single second stop. Daryl looked straight ahead, kept his pace like it was his God given mission, not a step trodden too soon. She recovered from her natural surprise, hid it behind that wall she flung most emotions, as she continued next to him.

"What do you mean real daddy?"

"Like it sounds."

Her feet planted her to the ground, "You're not her father?"

He stopped next, "No."

They were facing each other, the fact gritted on her like salt to a burn. There was an element of anticlimax to the way he proceeded to look at her, an almost disappointment to this sudden confrontation. Brooke observed him study her, take in her blatant shock, her applaudable suppression of greater feelings, her instinctive misplaced desire to run away from this man. Time, time played ally and foe with Brooke, and time told her that she spent well over a month with Daryl, her assumption of his fatherhood playing vital roles in her opinion for him.

Still, he looked at her with something greater than conflict, something much more important. It was hidden under a layer of honest nonchalance, behind his passive-aggressive refusal to deny this. It was, from what she understood, from what little she learnt of the man, an awarded insight into himself. Into his situation before their lives collied.

She didn't know how to place it. This unashamed profession of truth, this olive branch of understanding. It was an invitation into a history she knew nothing of. One he felt she earned the right to accept.

She knew she was looking way to into it, except, well she really wasn't. This man, who she knew little about, just told her the baby he has isn't his. The way he looked at her, the way the cool blue of his eyes met the browns of her own, wasn't like he was daring her to judge him.

He was asking her to let it be.

So, refusing her curiosity, she simply nodded. The gesture was underplayed. They kept walking, nothing else said.

Nothing more for a long time.

The winter sky was littered thick in grey cloud, any escape of light a blessing. They walked out of the suburb and on the road, their destination the nearest town. Brooke figured his silence mimicked her own, a quiet drawn less from contempt and more from uncertainty.

Because what do you talk about after something like that?

She had questions. If she had to boil it down she could ask them all in one.

How, how in the hell, did 'Daryl-the-crossbow-wielding-walker-killer' get stuck with a baby?

She'd phrase it better, of course, but that was the gist of it, if she did ask in the end. The longer the revelation churned away in her thoughts, the more it meet with her logical understanding. The world was responsible for many queer happenings now, unexplained company being one of many. Though it unsettled her, it didn't change her opinion of Daryl and Judith.

What happened, what likely happened, was fate had crashed Daryl and Judith together like dented cymbals. Orchestrated, but imperfect. Mismatched people looking out for one another was the new normal now.

As was common in this new world.

She decided it didn't matter. Sure, she wanted know why they were together, but it changed very little to her. Daryl didn't seem the type to kidnap a baby and raise it like his own for shits and giggles. Not when there were dead people trying to kill you, and living people who'd do it faster. His life would be easier without Judith, less dangerous, less restricted. He cared for that child knowing all that, that told her enough about this than she needed to be told.

She had her fair share of secrets. She knew better than to demand for someone else's.

The sun hung low, the sky kissed at it, the first true colours of dusk spilled. Pinks mixed with mint greens, purples with oranges until it diluted into a sea of cold dark blues. Just as the sky changed, the temperature grew unkind. Bitter cold walked with them, winter shouted chills by their ears of the crudest nature.

Daryl stopped in his track, head down and titled to her. She stood, held a breath in gentle anticipation, just like most did before someone broke the illusion of silence.

"Look, it," he searched for the words, "It ain't w'at ya think."

She nodded.

"Ya hear me?"

"I hear you." She said. She looked him dead on, a square, solid look. It was not, however, hard. "I know."

This was the reciprocation. The consequence of the act. He told her something, she responded. Somehow the middle, the ugly messy part, omitted itself. She wasn't going to press it, and now he knew.

The anxiety left his face, the sheets of stress rolled off of him, the revelation accepted. He nodded, shuffled a bit, and went walking. She walked next to him, the tension easing, time softening it slowly.

She walked ahead when she heard a scuffling. Next thing she knew she tripped, her hands expecting the iced gravel and muddied snow.

That didn't happen.

A millisecond after she would realise it was a tripwire. The trap sprung her up, her body bounced and now hung from a tree, a tall one. The world was flipped, her vision saw everything upside down, the blacked scenery harder to see with the night.

She screamed, she hated that she did it the moment the reflex betrayed her. It wasn't loud, more of a rough gasp, but still. She didn't dare call for Daryl. When she managed to shimmy to a right side up seated position, she confirmed that he had gone.

She was very aware of her knife. She didn't dare move, not right away. She waited for a second, just in case.

It was not in vain.

A man came out of the dark.


	14. Death Wish Roadtrip

Salutations my beautiful readers!

Hope you're all well! Sending you the best vibes in the form of a lovely chapter!

Thanks so much for the reviews, favourites, follows and love! I always love it when my readers let me know what they think! ❤️❤️❤️

* * *

He wished he could say he saw the trap before she stepped on it.

He didn't.

On instinct he merged with the darkness. The quick steps automatic as the swoosh of the trap pulled Brooke away from him. He crouched down by a bush, crossbow at the ready, Judith awake from her sleep alert and silent.

A man, a short stumpy looking man, spotlighted into view. He stepped out of the night with a calmness that unsettled Daryl. He walked without fear, each stride easy, as if there was no need for foresight. People that at ease with the world were either dead or dangerous.

As categories went, Daryl stuck him in the latter.

Brooke was hard to see in the shadows, the man was not. He carried a shotgun, heavy and rusted at the end. It was aimed at her, the man's arms stretched strong, mimicking a tango, the gun his partner.

A nozzle kissed the back of his head. A voice, a woman's voice, its owner.

"Get up." She said, "Slowly."

He did.

"Head into the light."

He did.

He stood, showered in moonlight, wet with adrenaline. He felt her eyes, Brooke's eyes, on his back where she shot him. It was a strange, almost psychic connection.

The woman, was the pepper to the man's salt shaker. She too carried a serenity to her, a misplaced coolness in the chaotic winter night. She pointed the gun, an old silver revolver, on Daryl, a lethal extension to her arm.

"Drop the crossbow." She said.

He did.

"Guns."

The soft thud of his handgun hit the snow. Her eyes were on him.

"What's in the bundle."

Daryl didn't answer. The minuscule flex of her finger on the trigger was not unnoticed.

"What's in the bundle."

"Baby."

Silence. It always happened when they found the baby. Even the cruel ones faltered, the glimpses of their humanity surfaced for a moment before reality pushed back again.

The man spoke this time.

"We don't want trouble."

Yes they did. People didn't spring traps and hold people at gun point because the didn't want trouble. They didn't care about trouble. They fucking _were_ trouble.

"Give us your supplies and we'll leave you be."

"No."

Three heads cocked up at the sight of Brooke struggling in the net. Dread sunk down hard and sharp in the pit of Daryl's empty stomach. The other man chuckled, a fucking tremor of sound erupted in amusement from his thin lips.

He looked at Daryl, bemused, reminiscent almost, "She's a firecracker."

Few moments have terrified Daryl before, terrified him to the core. Most included Judith, now was no exception. This, however, was different.

There was another person to think about. It wasn't like the prison, it wasn't like with Merle. She was expendable.

If he wanted to, if he really had to, he could take his chances and bolt. Could run as fast as he could and pray he'd make it. He didn't have an obligation to save her. In their current situation he didn't know if it was best to save her.

He had about two seconds to decide on bolting. His brain screamed at him when he stayed rooted to the ground. He swallowed a lump, spoke to the man firm.

She was going to be the death of him.

"Get her down firs'. Can take everythin' after."

He didn't look at Brooke as the the man formed a reply. He heard her protest. It was a soft, singular no in the quiet.

"Cut her down Grace."

"Just like that Vic?"

"It's fine." Smile spread on his cheeks, "They won't try anything funny. You ever been shot before?"

Daryl watched the woman head for the tree, her gun on him the whole time. He didn't answer the man. He shrugged.

"Quiet type huh? Look, no hard feelings okay? You know how it is now."

His eyes went back on him.

"Get her down."

"We will. Grace's just lowering her nice and easy." For the first time, he saw him settle his eyes on Judith, "Crazy. Can't remember the last time I saw a kid let alone a baby."

She was lowered down, low enough for him to see her with his peripherals. She was still, but he knew, could bet that her body was antsy. She landed on the snow, the thud a dull sound. He turned to help her out the net, pulled her up and left a hand on her arm as he turned back.

The man spoke again, "Eye for an eye. Put your stuff on the ground."

She was gentle. She slipped out of his grip with ease and Daryl found himself on the ground, her body crouched as she lunged for the man with a knife she concealed. All at once Daryl was next to his crossbow and gun, hands on the firearm pointed at the woman. She was not so collected anymore, fear thick on her cold features as she watched Brooke slash the man's face.

He reclined in agony, red spilling from his face to the snow. She grabbed his gun and bashed him, hilt down, on the throat. It was not enough to kill him right away, despite the crack his jaw made as the metal embraced his skin.

It was enough to collapse his throat.

A clumsy end to her attack she pointed the shotgun at the woman, a last kick in the man's gut her send off, as she stalked to where Daryl now stood.

He was choking. An obstructed wheezing sound came from him as Brooke stared his counterpart down. He struggled as he tried to sit up, his body trembling as it craved for air.

No one said a word. The sound was an awful one. Brooke didn't take an eye off the woman, watched her as tears ruined the stranger's face. Daryl would bet she was watching someone she cared for die right in front of her.

At gunpoint.

"Brooke." He was surprised at how calm his own voice sounded, "'S no point."

She didn't move, "Hand over your gun."

The woman was undone, sputtering and gasping as the trauma broke her bit by bit, "Go to hell! Go to hell you bitch!"

Brooke adjusted her grip on the shotgun. Daryl shook his head, crossbow in one hand and gun in the other. He stood right next to her, body invading her personal space, back bent to get his head near her's.

"Brooke. Enough."

For the first time since this started she shifted her gaze on his. Her eyes squinted, the browns menacing in the dark, and Daryl saw his reflection pleading back at him.

But she could too. She looked at her hostage and moved back, moved far away back to leave their attackers. Daryl left with her, the footsteps in sync, their movements choreographed.

His back was turned away from Brooke's, his eyes still watched the strangers. They grew smaller as they got further away, but he saw them. The woman crouched, and he knew she was doing everything she to try and save that man.

He didn't know how long after, but eventually, they blended with the dark. Daryl turned around, Brooke's silhouette far ahead. She floated across the open plane, the grounded snow a contrast to the deep darkness above them.

He quickened his pace, found himself out of breath when he caught up to her. She didn't bother talking to him. She just trailed on, aimless.

"Brooke."

No reply. He grabbed her arm, "'M talkin' to ya girl."

She stopped, turning to face him, "What Daryl?"

She was carrying the shotgun, the weapon made her look both bigger and smaller at the same time. Daryl studied her, that vacancy she sported a while ago was present on her face.

"Y'alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Y'ain't fine. Can see it."

She frowned, "Doesn't matter. Let's keep going."

As if the conversation omitted itself, she trailed on. He bit on his lip, angry now. It was no one's fault but he was angry, and he was angry at her, and he was angry at himself for putting up with her.

"You're a fuckin' piece a work."

She stopped at her tracks again, irritated. She turned to him.

"You can bitch and walk at the same time."

"What's wrong with ya?"

"I could ask you the same question?"

He had to remind himself Judith was still strapped onto him and not do something stupid. He didn't know what got into him, he hadn't been this pissed off in fucking months. And he didn't know why he was mad, he didn't know what it was, but he was livid.

"We just gone and almos' died a second ago. Ya fuckin' killed a guy and ya lookin' at me like 'm trailin' ya down."

"They were going to kill us."

"He let us go."

"He wanted our supplies."

"Coulda got more. Made it out there with less for longer."

"So what, you're just going to give people everything if they ask for it?"

"I was thinkin' of Judith."

"So was I!"

She shook her head and threw the shotgun as far as she could into the dark. She was just as angry, just as pissed off. Fingers curled themselves into fists, and she punched the air in pent up frustration. He knew it was wrong, he didn't know where it was coming from, but he just itched for a fight now.

"Coulda got us killed. Don' cha see that?"

"I just saved your ass, again, can't _you_ see that?"

"Ya pathetic. Think that's all ya do? Think ya can go decidin' what's best for everyone? Savin' everyone?" He snorted, "Ya think for a second if ya could trust people not to fuck up ya wouldn't have ta run 'round like Goddamn Wonder Woman half the fuckin' time."

"It's the world we live in-"

"Na. 'S the world you live in." He pointed at Judith who sat like dead weight on his chest, "Ya think for a second that if one thing went wrong she might not be here?"

That was it. It was a low blow. Her face, once twisted and snarling, went limp in sick fear. The notion, the very thought, plagued her.

"I wouldn't have let that happen."

He barked a laugh. It was dry, forced and painful.

"Wouldn' let that happen, what? Ya fuckin' God now?"

"No."

He got closer to her, one of his long rough digits pointed at her face. His gesture had an intrusive, weaponised feel to it. She cringed a fraction, the exhaustion, the trauma, her fucked up personal shit, all of it cracking that mask she wore on a continual basis.

That fucking stupid mask of her's.

"This ain't no game girl. No death wish road trip for ya to reinforce ya own suicidal fantasies." He said, "Don' care 'f ya wanna die, don' give a damn. Don' go draggin' me and my kid down with ya."

"She's not your kid."

Daryl bit his tongue, hard, "Whatcha say?"

There was no falter in her voice.

"She's not your kid."

There was a decency he thought she respected. It was one of her redeeming qualities, her distaste for judgement, her unspoken understanding. So he knew, he knew that this was her way of lashing back, her form of personal destruction. She did it with the scars back in the library and he forgave her, because she didn't know shit about what she was talking about.

She knew what she needed to know about Judith. She was kind enough not to press it, and he knew that regardless of this she would not press it. She knew it wasn't important, why Judith was here with him.

No, this wasn't about Judith at all. It was about Daryl. It was about how, no matter what he did, he was not her father. Daryl was not Judith's no matter how much of himself he gave to her. He could die for the girl and that fact would never change.

She was not his daughter.

He was not her father.

It didn't matter how thick the bonds were, how much he did for her, how much he loved her, there'd always be that gap, that astrix reminding him of the truth. Judith was not his. Judith was all he had, but she could never be his.

It was painful, remembering it. He knew it didn't matter, that come a couple of years the kid wouldn't care if she was his blood. He knew it meant nothing, but he still ached when he thought about it.

He placed a hand on the little girl's head, let himself believe in the moment she was his little girl, and stroked her blonde curls a couple of times to soothe the thought away. Brooke didn't take an eye off of him.

Her orbs ablaze.

"She needs me." He said, rough and snarling, "Who ya got left that needs you?"

He didn't bother to wait for her reply. He didn't bother to check if she was even behind him. He kept walking through the darkness.

The cold was not thought of once that night.


	15. More Meat, Less Hair

Hey guys!

It's that time of the week again!

Enjoy the chapter, thanks again for the reviews, follows, favourites and love. I get all warm and fuzzy when people tell me what they think. ❤️

* * *

She considered leaving.

Circumstance aside, he was a quiet man. Now though, he spoke the bare minimum to her. She didn't expect him to start talking any time soon either.

She didn't know if she wanted him too.

Three days later they were near the border of Connecticut. They'd found a car by Springfield, siphoned as much gas as they could find and drove. Just drove. It was claustrophobic; the tension, the cold, the hunger, all of it.

They'd stop if necessary. If the car needed gas, or someone needed a piss, or they were low on food. Otherwise one of them was always driving.

The nights were no different. Daryl would hop in the back with Judith in his arms and read to her until she slept. Headlights on, eyes on the empty road, Brooke drove as he slept. Come sun up she'd park and sleep, without fail he'd be driving when she woke again.

On the forth night, skies dark and car silent, the idea whispered to her among her crowded thoughts. She parked the car, the lights still on, eyes still looking ahead. After a second she turned the lights off and contemplated in the dark.

She should leave.

She leaned her arms on the steering wheel, flustered. When did she get so warm? It was sickening, how hot she was, how fast her heart beat.

Once again, a habit as of late, she found herself trapped in the events of three days before. Saw herself as she ruminated, watched the distorted version of herself partake in their argument. Her mind's eye showed it all in the third person, and every time she would side against herself as she it play out over and over.

She had been so cruel. So unforgivably cruel. The woman she watched in her memories was not one inclined to remorse or mercy and it hurt her to see it. Stabbed at her to admit how far she fell from who she used to be.

Before the world became what it was.

Before Oliver and George.

Before everyone and everything.

She sat, chest imploding, breathing short and wondered if she'd ever be okay again. If she'd be able to pass this. Her behaviour, the life she lead, the girl in the argument, they were just a shrine to the person she lost all those months ago. The person she used to be.

She'd recited sermons t anyone who could listen on how she changed when no one else had changed. How she accepted the new world as it was because she was different now. Irony often came with ignorance. The truth was, she was the one trying so hard to be a okay again.

To be like before.

She tried to mould herself to what this world's normal, when she should've accept her own version. She could blame it on the people, say they all pressured her for not being who she once was, blame it on the apocalypse for changing what she knew, but in reality it was her choice to act as she was acting. She had put herself in a coffin, barred herself from acceptance with layers of eager denial. Not anyone, her.

She leached on anyone and then blamed them for everything. Accussed them all for being blind when she couldn't see past her own despair. Like she had done with Daryl.

What kind of a person brings up a stranger's scars the first time they properly talk? She tried to use something she knew nothing about as some form of sick leverage against him, as if problems were easy enough to define and discard. If he had treated her the same way, fuck, she would've likely burst into tears.

The panic escalated, she drowned in the sea of thoughts plaguing her. She needed air. She was discreet, carful, as she opened the car door. She got out and leaned on the hood, forcing her breath to slow.

There was snow. It fell soft on her cheeks, littered her face in cold. Above her, the stars embraced the sky in light, the dots posed lazy and beautiful as they looked down at her. For a moment, the vastness, the grand insignificance of the world against the backdrop of the universe, stilled her brain better than any bullet could have.

Once, a long time ago, she'd dream of looking at the stars like this. The world may have gone to shit, but she couldn't bring herself to hate the stars. Not just yet.

Her parents loved to stargaze. She missed them, longed to see them again. She'd snuff out every star above her if she could be with them one more time.

Was it bad to think they were dead? To wish it? To hope they died innocent and early? The idea of her brother dead brought hot tears to her eyes, but she wished he was, wished he didn't have to face what she'd face.

Or worse, do what she'd done. Hell must be otherworldly if this wasn't it.

Death was sure to be a quick venture. Once this life was done, it was done. Nothing mattered after, her existence, her very essence, would be erased. Few would argue it ever happened to begin with, it's not like she'd be there to vouch it.

She sniffed, the pressure lifting as she weeped. It was a cathartic, welcomed act. Each tear drop cleaned out the evil in her soul.

It would take a flood to have it glistening again.

The car door clicked open, and she heard the crunch of Daryl's boots greet the snow. She wiped her eyes quick, turned to see him stood there, ocean eyes meeting her own earthy browns.

She cleared her throat. He kept his eyes on her.

"Sorry." The words were rough, uneven coming from her sandpaper voice, "Didn't mean to wake you."

He shrugged, "Don' mind."

It was uncomfortable attempting conversation with him. Whatever progress or rhythm they had was burnt to ash. Now was no different, especially since he caught her with her guard down.

He lit up a cigarette she didn't know he had, walked to the front of the car and looked up. She never really looked at him before, never appreciated the sight of him. It had always been clinical, at times it had to be.

Now though, head up, face thin, crow's feet dug deep next to hooded eyes, hair black from dirt, bags heavy with an eggplant sheen to them, she looked at him properly. He watched, as he sucked on a smoke like it was the only right thing left in the world. She found herself wondering what he looked like before she met him, wondered if he wondered that about her too.

"W'at?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

He took another drag, "'Bout?"

"What you looked like before?"

He frowned. It was probably the first real reaction she got from him in a while. He shrugged.

"More meat on my bone. Less hair."

"Same here." she said, "Hate my hair this long. It's why I keep it up all the time."

"Don' mind mine. Keeps my head warm." He shuffled were he stood, an attempt for warmth, "Why ya out?"

"Thinking."

"'Bout?"

"Stuff."

He rolled his eyes. Taking one last drag before flicking the butt in the snow. He gave her a look, a hard, long look, before wrapping his arms around his chest.

"Don' stay here too long."

He took a stride to the car door, opening it. Brooke swallowed something down. Bile, a lump, pride, she didn't know.

"Daryl?"

He turned a side to her, his body ready to head back to the warmth, "Yeah?"

She stood straight up, "I'm sorry about what I said about Judith. It was wrong, all of it, everything."

Pause, or she thought it was. He had his mouth slack waiting to say something but no words came out. He opened the car door wider and decided to go in instead.

Sorry was not going to cut it. He was still furious with her. She wouldn't have accepted an apology after that so easy either.

She leaned back on the hood, her fingers stone cold. She'd stay a while longer before heading in.

The car door opened again.

She turned and frowned. Daryl shut it, a dull thud accompanied the sounds of his crisp footsteps. He stood by the hood.

"I thought you was thinkin' o' doin' somethin' drastic." he said.

"Drastic?"

The wind cooed between. He nodded. There weren't too many things that _drastic_ could have been.

She cleared her throat.

"Wouldn't be the first time, to be honest."

"Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Ya know."

She looked at him before looking back at here hands.

"No." She said, "I don't know why I'm out here anymore."

He gave a brisk nod, as if he understood. It would've made one of them.

"Look Daryl," she sat on the hood now, leg propped up and body facing him, "About what I said, I was out of line-"

"Heard ya the first time. 'S o'er." He was looking dead ahead.

"No, I was awful. A real bitch." She said, "You were right about everything."

"Don' matter Brooke, just leave it."

She couldn't. She was going to make this right.

"It doesn't matter to me."

He spilled a slow huff of air between his lips in a sigh. Steam traveled fast and outward as he ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired, it put years on his face.

"W'at Don' matter?"

"How you ended up with Judith. It's not my place."

"So no need to talk 'bout it."

She shivered. She'd been out here too long.

"There isn't. I just, I just wanted you to know that you've done right by 's got little to do with it."

"She ain't mine to do wrong to. Got to do nothin' but right for her."

He was sullen. His back was arched as he then leaned on the hood, arms wrapped tight around his chest for warmth. She found her brows furrowed as she listened to what he said. It was sad, it didn't mean to be but it was.

"You've got kids who's own parents wouldn't have loved their own as much as you love her. She's the luckiest girl in the world."

He turned to look at her, uncomfortable. His eyes were squint, his hair curtained his face.

"Why you out here?" His face was stoic, question firm.

"I just, I needed a moment. Needed to sort somethings out."

"Wasn't goin' t' kill yaself?"

The wind stopped. So had the snow. The chill was worse though. She didn't know if she could blame it on the weather.

The question was blunt. His eyes were on her's again. She couldn't help but see a mirror in them, see layers of repression baring the light into Daryl's soul. He was different to her, so very different, but the same sort of walls were there.

"What's the point? No one's here to prove I was alive in the first place." She said, "Suicide is just a means to keep it that way."

"Don' think it's the coward's way?"

"Do you?"

"Think it's the only choice you'll ever make that's truly ya own."

She thought about that, "You ever think about it?"

"Killin' myself?"

She nodded. He shook his head.

"'S like ya said. Not much point here. We're all dead anyway."

They didn't say anything right away. Daryl lit up another cigarette. He sucked it long and slow.

"'M sorry too."

She frowned, "For what?"

"Wasn' only you that night. Provoked ya."

"You still didn't deserve that." He was looking right at her, "Don't twist it from the truth. It's the only thing we have now."

"Don' paint yaself a martyr. Might start to believe it."

She smiled. He had a fast wit. He shuffled and stubbed out his smoke, "Come on. 'S cold."

She nodded, he opened the car door, waiting for her to shimmy inside. She stopped before she got in.

"Are we okay?"

He nodded, face softer, "We're good."

"I meant it, about Judith. You're the best thing she'll ever have."

He looked at her, eyes searching. Face struck with the inability to find anything to say. He nodded slow again before murmuring.

"Get in the car, ya shakin'."

She was about to hop in front but Daryl nudged her to the back. She frowned but didn't argue. He got in with her. Judith lay there wrapped in Brooke's puffer jacket, asleep.

Daryl locked the doors and shuffled, his body trying to get comfortable. Brooke turned to him, confused.

"I can sit in front."

"Don'. 'S cold. Can use all the heat we can get."

She was shivering. Her own fault for sitting out there for so long. She grabbed Judith and held her in her arms, the warmth radiated off of the child and Brooke relished it.

"Scoot beside me."

"It's okay-"

"Just trust me."

She eyed him. His body was shaking, his face red from the chill. She held Judith close and shuffled next to him. He wrapped an arm around her, thriving the heat she provided.

It's a mutual affair.

They shook and stuttered together as their bodies leeched off each other for heat. Strong arms rubbed her own, she did the same to Judith, all the while pressing herself against him like wood against a flame.

They sat like that for a while. It was the first time the three of them had been so close together before. After some time she felt her breathing slow to a normal pace, her fingers, numb with cold, began warming.

She looked up at Daryl. Her head had found its place underneath the crook of his own, his eyes were closed.

"Daryl?"

His eyes remained shut, "Brooke?"

"What if I told you I was going to kill myself?"

She felt his breath slow, "Don' know."

"Don't know what you'd do?"

"Mmm."

She looked down at Judith. Her pink lips were parted and chapped.

"So why come out and check then?"

"Needed to make sure ya didn'."

"You said you didn't care if I blew my brains out."

The statement wasn't harsh. It was a recollection of a past fact. He opened his eyes, tilted his head so he could look at her.

"'S your choice. Wouldn't a stopped ya, not if ya were adamant."

"Just figured you'd try. Why?"

"Woulda felt responsible."

"It doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Has everything t'. Wouldn't a been right."

"Right on me or right on you?"

"Right on everyone." His eyes caught her own, "Ya didn' let me die in Boston."

"It was different."

"'S the same."

She thought about it, mused his reasoning over. She nodded a little while after. His head titled up and his eyes closed.

No more on the matter was said. Or she thought no more was said. Sleep, fickle as it was, took her early that night.

When she woke up, she was laid down on the backseat with her jacket on her. She turned, the morning sunlight roused her, her muscles stretched with delicious ease. She didn't sit up right away, instead she watched as the archer read to the child in the front seat, feeding her mushed peas he'd chewed up in his mouth.

For the first time in a long time, she felt warm.


	16. Not The Most Original Guy

Hi guys!

Here's the next chapter, let me know if you enjoy it!

Thanks to all you wonderful people for reviewing, following and favouriting this story! Cannot believe all the love you guys have for this! 3

* * *

The routine, more fragil than ever, returned. They spoke again, chatted with an amenity that was different than before. Open, as if their falling out had forced a crack between them and now less was in shadow.

He wouldn't call it friendship. Wouldn't call her a friend. Still, she wasn't fenced in the grey area of acquaintanceship anymore.

He felt like she changed.

Or maybe this was always what she was like.

It unsettled him, made him realise just how little of her she had shown him. It was as if the night in the cold had awakened something inside of her, shuffled her attitude so it fell on a brighter light.

Those eyes of hers, flaming and angry, now looked alive. She brought out the gas tank that was her soul and added to her inner blaze. For the first time since he met her, he saw life in those eyes. Small, flickering, but still there.

It was in the small things. The few things. But it was still there.

Like now. She was on the front seat, Judith on her lap, playing eye-spy. The baby was loving it, her little fingers pointed at everything in the car, half formed words giggled out of her pink lips.

"Eyeshpi Kish."

Daryl frowned, end of his mouth curled at one side as he listened to the child try her hardest to play. He looked away from the road, one hand on the wheel and another leaned by the window. Judith caught his eyes and smiled, a finger pointed at him.

"Eyeshpi Daddie."

Brooke grinned, "Eye spy Daddy or eye spy kiss?"

"Daddy."

"Daddy? Is it on Daddy or you spy Daddy."

She pointed at Daryl, "Daddy."

Daryl darted his eyes back on the road, "Ain't supposed to say the thing ya spyin' Judy." He said, "Ain't how it works baby girl."

"Eyeshpi Buk."

The girl laughed, "Book or Brooke, honey?"

"Buk." Her little palms patting on the girl's chest, "Eyeshpi Buk."

Brooke laughed, "Not going to play by the rules, huh? Fine. I spy your nose. Where's your nose Judy?"

She did that often too. Daryl noticed it. She'd ask Judith for things and request that she show it to her. Judith didn't mind, she loved talking, and in the car where she could be comfortable everything was a game to her.

Judith thought for a moment before pointing to her nose. Brooke smiled at her.

"Very good, and where's my nose?" Another successful answer, "And my eyes?" Again, "And my mouth?"

Daryl glimpsed tiny hands pat at small full lips. Judith was rewarded with the sound of praise. The child shifted on the spot in triumph.

"You're a very smart girl Judith."

"Mouff." Hands still at Brooke's face, "Kish?"

Without another prompt Brooke bent down and kissed her cheek. Mouth opened wide, Judith grabbed at her head after and planted her own by her mouth. Daryl saw her in his peripheral turn to him.

"Daddy kish?"

Darly glanced at her quick, "Magic word?"

Brooke nudged Judith, "Please."

"Pleash kish?"

He slowed to a stop and plonked her on his lap. Judith squeezed her frail arms around the bottom of his face and slobbered by his eye. When she let go Daryl couldn't help but feel his heart melt. She looked at him, big bluey-green eyes glinting, in complete adoration.

No one, not a soul, ever looked at him like that before. Judith always did. Her whole hearted unquestionable love never failed to bring an ache to his chest.

"Again!"

Daryl smirked, "Magic word Judy."

She scrunched her face. The word vanished from her limited short term memory. Brooke leaned forward, expression a mix of relaxed and amused.

"Please, Judy."

"Pleash, kish."

Daryl kissed her forehead. How could he deny her? She clapped, features bright. Brooke gave a stretch.

"You've been driving for a while. Let's swap, I think she wants to play with you anyway."

He nodded, carrying her with strong arms and getting out the car. They swapped places and got in, Brooke started the engine and Daryl sprawled on the front seat with Judith leaned against the glove compartment. Little baby started playing with his hands.

"Past a few signs saying we're close to a few towns," Brooke said, "Should we make a stop? We'll be running low soon."

Daryl grinned at Judith, she was trying her hardest to catch one of Daryl's hands. He thought about it.

They'd spent a near week in this car. The snow had made a simple couple day journey into a complicated mission to get out of the state. A couple hours of restocking might be the difference between starving to death in this rust bucket or making it to Washington alive.

"Wouldn' hurt. Not desperate yet, but wanna keep it that way."

She nodded, face content. She liked driving, he saw it calmed her.

"Hands Daddy."

He looked at her, "Hands darlin'. Watcha call this?"

"Nose."

"Right ya are."

She was tired out, her little eyes drooped as she played with his fingers. Brooke turned to look at her.

"She's a quick learner." She said, "Yesterday I taught her colours."

Daryl cocked a brow, "Know ya colours do ya?" Judith didn't answer. Daryl leaned over and kissed her.

"She's tired out."

"Mmm, don' want her sleepin' now."

"Play another game with her, something new."

"Don' know many games."

"Your family not into car games?"

They were as far out of that as possible.

"Wasn' their thing. Didn' go places much either. Huntin' from time t' time, but 's 'bout it."

Brooke glanced at him, a quick one, before looking back at the road, "We were car game people."

He smirked, "Could tell."

She rolled her eyes, "Well we were. Loved road trips, especially when I got my license. Was one of the fewest times I could just drive undisturbed on the road."

"Where'dya go?"

"All over. I'm from outside of Seatle, so in the summer we'd plan this coast to coast road trip every year. One end to the next and back, and hit as many places in between."

"'S a lot of places."

"A lot of the same, but it didn't matter. I loved it. And when my brother was born it was even better because I got to experience these places with someone who'd never seen them before." Her eyes glazed over as she lost herself in her past, "It was fun, I miss it."

"Never left Georgia 'fore this."

"You're from Georgia?" She saw him nod. "Went to Atlanta once."

"Don't care much for it. Lived up north, in the mountains."

She smiled, "You're a real country bumpkin aren't you Daryl?"

"Better than some crazy city bitch."

"Up for debate." She frowned, a slow, contemplative furrow, "What's your last name?"

"Dixon."

"Daryl Dixon." The name wafted between them, "Daryl Dixon from Georgia."

"W'at's yours?"

"Robins."

"Brooke Robins from Washington."

"Brooke Elaine Robins from Washington." She said, "If we're being specific."

"Which we ain't."

"No middle name Dixon? Nothing embarrassing like Leslie or Margret or any of that?"

"William."

"Daryl William Dixon." She looked over at him, "Not as nice as Elaine."

He'd agree, "'S a stupid thing. Middle names. Don' think they're important."

"My middle name's my grandmother's. My brother's one was after my uncle. They're just another way for people to stay remembered I think."

"Me an' my brother had the same one."

"William?"

"Mmm. Named after my father. Wasn' the most original guy."

It was unusual. Everyone thoughts so. She had the decency not to make it look so obvious.

"Well if it ain't broke." she said, "William's not the worst name. My brother would argue that."

"What's your brother's name?"

Her eye lids fell a fraction, a small smile played against her lips as she recalled him. Daryl saw her remember him, saw every fond memory of him surface within her all at once.

"River."

"River."

"I know. Brooke and River. My parents were a little out there, liked the water a lot. At least it wasn't Port or Tide or something equally as stupid."

Daryl found himself smiling, "'S not a bad name."

"It's a pretty lame name." she laughed, "He hated it actually, made everyone call him Adam, his middle name."

"Know about a dozen Adams, don't know many Rivers."

"You know how kids are." She said, "What about your brother, what's his name?"

Judith was now curled snug in his arms. He looked at her.

"Merle." He said, "His name was Merle."

He felt her tense.

"Was?"

"Died right after Judith was born."

She didn't look at him. Her posture straight, her eyes never wavered away from the road. She was pulling that face, her features held the same carful casualness that she pulled when he told her about Judith.

"Walkers?"

He shook his head, "Bullet to the heart."

"He turned?"

He didn't say anything. It was as good as a yes.

Brooke shook her head, "Whoever who did it must've hated him."

He frowned, "Why you say that?"

"Killing someone and leaving them to turn, that's worse than murder now. When someone's dead and you leave them, you're taking the last bit of what made them human away."

Daryl didn't want to talk about it, "He got w'at he deserved. Merle made sure o' that."

"You," she was choosing her words, "You laid him to rest."

"Merle?"

"Yeah."

He nodded, "Wasn' turned for long. Made sure."

She wanted to say she was sorry. She was giving off the look. The ones the others had when they watched as Daryl buried him. The pitiful, sympathetic distant look people gave when they heard that someone's nearest or dearest passed.

She didn't. She stopped herself. She forced her eyes on the road, her face neutral, as she drove.

"We've been in this car for six days."

"Didn' think it'd be so hard to get out t' Philadelphia."

"I think we've seen the worst of the snow now." she said, "Anyway, I just realized that in the six days we've spent in this car, not once did we check the stereo."

Daryl looked at the dusty stereo in question. It didn't inspire interest.

"So?"

"Maybe Judith might like to listen to some music? It might wake her up a bit."

"Don' wanna attract attention."

She scoffed, "We're in a moving car surrounded by layers of snow on either side. We're okay for now. We don't have to put it loud."

"W'at's the point? Ain't got no radio?"

She took her eyes off the road and on the stereo. She freed a hand and checked the cd compartment. She struck gold, passing a dirty cd to Daryl.

He wasn't impressed, "Wanna stick on this?"

She was back to both hands on the wheel, "What is it?"

"The fuckin' Dirty Dancin' Soundtrack."

She smiled, her head turned to him quick, "No way, really?"

He stuck the cd back in the compartment, "Not playin' that."

"What? That movie was awesome!"

He looked down at Judith, she was about to doze. She looked up at him, quiet but still smiley.

"Not got anythin' else?"

"Does this look like my car?"

He searched around the compartment. His choices weren't great. It was between that and some Jennifer Lopez album.

She looked over and scrunched her nose, "I'm not that big into JLo."

"W'at 'bout the sound of silence?"

"Whoever owned the car didn't seem to appreciate Simon and Garfunkel."

That cracked a smirk from him, "Woulda had that on."

"Hear that Judy? You're lucky we don't have that, wouldn't want to give you nightmares."

"Wouldn' get nightmares."

"It's a depressing song."

"She's been round walkers since she was born."

"It's still depressing. Plus it's really slow, she'd be out like a light."

He shook her head, "Fine. Will Dirty Dancin' on. Don' care."

Daryl sulked as he put the CD in the stereo. Judith watched amazed as the machine ate it up. He didn't think he ever played music in a car ride with her. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he played music in a car at all.

The last time someone used this stereo could've been before this started. It could've rotted away, rust eating at the cables and metal around it. It could've been unusable, long mute and worthless.

It wasn't. Slowly, softly at first, the music played. It started quiet, the familiar crackle of white noise faded, and then, all at once, singing.

Judith frowned. She looked up at Daryl in demand of an explanation, little face bewildered by the novelty. Then Brooke began singing along, the deep baritones of Bill Medley contrasting her voice, washing out Jennifer Warnes'.

Then, the instruments played. Brooke turned to Judith and started dancing, or she tried to. Hands on the wheel but shoulders shimmying, head bobbing, all the while miming the words. No sooner did she begin did Judith start. She waved her arms and shook her head, laughing at Brooke and the music.

Daryl wasn't one to sing, he wasn't going to start now. Still something inside him warmed as he watched the baby move, watched the girl next to him belt out the wrong words in the wrong pitch. Judith looked at him, eyes shining, and he found himself holding both her hands and moving them up and down in time with the music.

Judith loved every second of it. Daryl loved that she loved it. He would bet that Brooke loved it too.

It was a strange thing to be a part of. Strange in it's averageness. What unfolded before him was something that was once so normal.

Something that he only experienced a few times himself. Will Dixon would sooner eat the stereo than sing and dance along it in the car. There were times though, back when Merle was out of juvie and before it was too fucking stupid for grown ass men to sing. It was less like Dirty Dancing and more like Motörhead, less arm waving and more head banging, but it was fun.

For a moment, for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, Daryl didn't feel out of place. It was easy to believe, that this was real and simple, that fate hadn't been cruel and dragged them to where they were now. That they were three people, a man, a woman, a baby, and they were having fun.

Everything else didn't matter.

Judith got chatty again. She begged for 'Time of My Life' to be played over and over, the first song she ever heard. Even when she was driving Brooke indulged her. Between dancing like a class A idiot and driving the car, he couldn't help but enjoy seeing her like this.

A few minutes after, big smile on her face, she parked them near the town. She turned the stereo off, ruffling Judith's curls after. When she was done she looked at him, cheeks pink from smiling. He'd never seen her smile so much.

Was his cheeks just as sore? As pink? He didn't get a chance to think about it.

She looked at him, eyes warm.

"So what do we need to get?"


	17. Near But Not Near Enough

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They parked the car on the highway. They didn't mind the walk, plus it would be easier to continue from there than from the town. Neither wanted to risk another obscure couple of days trying to find a route not blocked up by the snow.

Brooke strapped Judith onto her chest, jacket zipped up as high as it could go. She checked her ammunition, put her handgun behind her back underneath her shirt and jeans. The shotgun she'd stolen from the couple a few days back was loaded. She had gone back for it after the fight.

Daryl trekked ahead, crossbow at the ready. An obvious chill slid through him, his body contorting despite itself. He wore two shirts underneath his standard leather jacket, but needless to say he was freezing. He didn't like anything they'd found around, they were all to awkward to move in with the cross bow and Judith.

She worried about his back. The 'bullet incident' was still fresh, his wound still healing. That sort of pain would linger for a while, was lingering now, and she knew he did his damnest to hide it.

"We need to find you something to wear."

He looked at her, "Somethin' wrong with my look?"

She rolled her eyes as she kept pace, "You know what I mean. It's December Daryl. It's going to get colder."

"Will look 'round."

Her boots crunched in the snow. He never went too far ahead, he was always wary of distance when she carried Judith. She gathered it as parental.

Not too long into the woods they heard the groans. Brooke held the shotgun close, carful of the baby. They were quiet, Daryl disposing of anything dead and dangerous with silent precision.

The town was a half hour walk through the woods due east. It was vacant, but not undisturbed. Tracks of mud littered the dirty snow, along with blood and other dubious stains. This place, like the many places here, was a port, a stop for those that wandered.

It would never be anything else.

They were to hit the gun shop, pharmacy, and grocery shop, in no particular order. They always went wherever was closest, spending as little time in the open as possible. With winter came darkness, shortened days and icy traps. Brooke had a _near-but-thank-God-not-near-enough_ miss with a walker who'd frozen onto a lamp post two days ago. Even the snow was not safe.

They found the pharmacy first, deserted and clear. A healthy stack of baby food lay undisturbed in the infant care section, along with the diapers and wet wipes. Judith was rationed a diaper a day, abusive care in the old world but a necessity here. One desperate time, when they had a few diapers left, Daryl emptied one Judith was wearing and put it back on her again.

Brooke emptied the lot into Judith's pack as Daryl searched for the pads she requested. She added it to the list earlier and watched him clear his throat, telling his brain that it wasn't a big deal. She found it funny. Pharmacies were in short supply of the stuff nowadays, but he managed to find some for her.

She'd have to ration too, but it wasn't too bad.

Last things she grabbed were a first aid kit, bandages, painkillers, two pairs of gloves and a hat for Judith. She handed him a pair, smiling at how flustered he got at the gesture before carrying on. They crossed off the items on their list, made sure they were ready to leave and headed off.

The routine repeated itself. The next place they found was the grocery store. She couldn't help think that this was the closest thing to weekly shopping you could get anymore. Walker killing aside, supply runs always had a suburban feel to them.

She hated hitting grocery stores. The bigger the place, the higher the chances of a running into trouble. This one was no different, damp and rotted, Daryl struck three walkers with his arrows, Brooke stabbing one that got a bit too close to him. They didn't go far from each other in the bigger places, now was no exception.

They hit the canned section and started stuffing their bags when one came at her. She jumped back, her knife welding hand flat on top of Judith's head in protection, her shotgun falling to the floor. Daryl turned towards the noise. Four more grabbed at them, one by Brooke's head.

He pulled her out before shooting the one nearest down. Brooke grabbed the shotgun and turned to run, Daryl behind her. She heard a crash, the archer having pulled the nearest shelf ontop of the walkers that attacked. Daryl pushed her in front, hand grasped firm on her shoulder as he lead the way.

They reached the end of the aisle. Walkers on their left. On their right. Two in front of them.

None in front now. Brooke shot at the one closet, the powerful shells of the shotgun hitting both bastards. Daryl attacked from the sides as they ran to the end of the shop. The dead end of the shop.

They were coming closer.

He looked at her, and for the first time she saw terror, pure unadulterated fear, on his face. She gave him the same look. The same expression of horror as both their bodies filled them with adrenaline, the beloved fight or flight instinct etched on their features.

It was a millisecond look, a minuscule moment, a flash. Then they were searching both ways for something, anything. She founds something. Brooke's eyes widened, she yanked Daryl next to her as she shot the ones coming their way and ran to their right.

A stairway, barely visible in the dim lit room, was there. Brooke pulled Daryl behind her, letting go to run up the stairs and open the door on the top. Daryl was at the bottom, arrows flying.

The door was locked. She shot at the handle. A walker pushed out of the room, his frame lunged for her. Without a thought she stabbed it in the head.

It fell ontop of her and she threw it behind. It hit Daryl before tumbling down. The archer pushed them both in the room, shut the door and pushed against it. The dead were at the top of the stairs, if they didn't find something to hold the door they'd be done.

She didn't even look to see what was around before she pulled a desk over to him. It was heavy, everything on top of it fell, and it didn't drag well. She put it by the door and Daryl moved out of the way. Hands reached over as the desk held the door back, Brooke doing all she could to keep the desk from moving forward. Daryl pushed a cabinet near to the door, the metal thing heavy, close to the desk.

He turned to her, "Move it back, 'm put this in front and ya put that on top o' it."

She did as she was told. It hurt her arms, the stiff legs of the desk lurched forward in time to the cabinet moving. Daryl pushed it, the cabinet dropping in front of the door, before going over to help Brooke tilt the desk.

The cabinet held. The sounds of nails scrapping the other side of the door filled the room. She looked at Daryl.

"Will it hold?"

Blue eyes looked at her brown ones.

"For now. Gotta keep an eye," he walked around the room, pulling a dusty box next to the door, "Gotta hope they quiet down. They'll attract more."

She nodded, taking her surroundings in. They were in the manger's room, a small glass window on the one side of it overlooked the whole store. She had an idea.

" Daryl, if we can break this and then throw something down, we could draw some away."

He looked at the window, "Need to break it all at once. If we bang somethin' on it and it don' break right, just make 'em rowdy. Could end up gettin' more o' them."

"I've got three more bullets left in the shot gun."

He nodded, his head looking around for something to throw, "Megaphone?"

"Yeah, that'll work."

"Don' do it just yet. Wait til they've calm down a bit."

She nodded. Brooke unzipped her jacket, pulling Judith off the sling and checking her. The baby was terrified, eyes red from crying. Brooke couldn't remember hearing her cry once during it all. Daryl took her from her grip and did a one over himself.

He sighed, relief spilling from his face. He then put a hand on Brooke's shoulder, moving her around as he checked her for bites.

After fighting off a large group of walkers they'd check each other out. Brooke would tell him she was fine and vice versa. This was the first time he'd ever physically checked her. This was, however,the closest encounter they've ever had.

She looked him over, "You okay?"

He nodded, "Fine."

"Daryl, how are we going to get out of this?"

He looked around, "Not sure."

Judith shook in Daryl's hold. Brooke cradled the baby's head with her bloodied palms. She freaked when she saw the blood wipe off on her face, and reached for a wet wipe. Daryl rocked her, hand on her back as he swayed.

Brooke offered him the wipe. He took it and cleaned the child's face.

"'S a'right," he murmured, "S'okay. Shh. They're gone now. We're okay."

Brooke watched, her own fear spiked to new heights as Judith's fell. Daryl caught her eye, stoic.

"From up here I could shoot 'em. One by one. Have the advantage."

"If we draw them away?"

"Ye. Won' make no noise."

It could work. She saw the discarded crossbow on the floor. There weren't many arrows left.

"What about ammo?"

"Can make arrows. Just need to be sharp 'nough."

This could work. No, this had to work. She sat on the damp carpeted floor.

He continued to sway Judith, "Break the glass before dark. Shoot out as much as we can, then the rest in the mornin'."

"They'll wonder off by night anyway."

He nodded. She frowned. He was stiff to one side, his face winced a fraction, a near missable fraction, when he swayed the child.

"You're not okay."

He didn't seem to care, "Be fine." Judith was quieter. His attention was on her, any pain was not a priority at the minute.

"Pass her back Daryl, I'll put her on the sling again." she said, "Just in case we need to get away quick."

"'S fine."

"Are you sure?" She asked, "We'll have our hands free."

He reconsidered the request. He gave a nod and handed Judith to her, helping the little one onto the sling. When she was attached, he pulled over a side table that lay covered in dust and papers, titled it to its side and stood on a leg. He pushed the table back, the leg splitting apart from the table body.

He sat beside the mess and opposite Brooke. He stuck a knife through a crack in the centre of the leg and twisted, the wood splitting once more in two uneven halfs. He passed one to her.

"Know how to make an arrow?"

She gave him a look, "Sorry. Missed 'Carve Arrows Out Of Tables' day at school."

He grunted, "Ya goin' need to split this again. Til it's thick 'nough to fit in the bolt chamber." He pulled over his crossbow, "After you carve it, smooth and sharpen the tip, smoother the better. Makes 'em faster."

She nodded, "Okay. How many do you need?"

"Make as many as we can."

She felt Judith's hot breath against her chest, a dampness forming. The child was falling asleep. She started splitting the wood.

"Wish the gun shop was closer than the pharmacy." She said, "Or at least all this happened there."

He smirked, "Woulda been convenient."

She agreed.

They carved, for the most part, in silence. She only disturbed him for reassurance that what she was making was at the very least usable. He guided her, her eyes watched as expert hands dragged the knife against the wood. It was hypnotic, the way the steel flowed against the bruised mahogany, every knick thinned out, every bump flattened.

The table was enough for a dozen make shift bolts. When they were finished, Brooke stood to a side and readied the shotgun. One pellet was enough to obliterate the glass, shards falling around them and below. Daryl stood with his back firm against the upturned desk.

The walkers stirred, the violent thud of hands hitting the door present again. By luck the megaphone still had battery. She turned the volume on high before throwing it as hard as she out the window.

An awful terrible screech followed the audible thud of the object meeting the floor. It continued, the microphone hollering at atrocious decibels.

She would've been grateful for two, maybe three, walkers to follow the sound. Half a minute later, seven wondered in search of it. Daryl peeled himself away from the door, and stood by her next to the window.

"It worked."

He sounded relieved, more than he ever sounded before. She smiled at him, big and broad.

"Just need to get them now."

He did. Bolt after bolt they went down. From up here it looked rehearsed, as if the walkers practiced this moment all of their undead lives. She watched as he took his time, the impending darkness ignored, as he loaded each arrow and aimed at each walker.

That was until he bent down to load the third to last shot. Daryl froze, hands dropping the crossbow, as his body doubled over in pain. He grabbed for her leg as an anchor, strong fingers dug deep in a hold. It burned, the force of his hands on her, but she didn't dare register it.

She kneeled down quick, carful of the glass, and steadied him.

"Daryl, what's wrong?"

He didn't let go of the leg, his eyes squinted shut.

"Back."

It was whimpered. It was gruff, pained, very downplayed, but it was a whimper.

"What's wrong with your back?"

"Froze." It sounded like he was forcing the words out, "Muscles."

Fuck. She looked around the room. The middle was cleared out the way.

"Do you think you can stand?"

He didn't answer right away. She felt him tense, his grip on her tighten, as he stood up. It was slow, hands that were once on her leg now wrapped themselves on her arms. His breathing laboured, and his eyes opened part way.

His grip was really, really tight.

"We need to lay you down, can you walk?"

A quick nod. She moved him away from the glass to the middle of the room. Touch soft, she eased his hold on her arms and removed the roused Judith from her breast. She sat the groggy girl on the floor.

"Judy honey, just stay there okay."

She nodded, eyes on Daryl. He was crouched, his gait crippled as he stood in the middle of the room. She eased him on the floor, his front to the ground. He tensed, a small gasp escaped his lips.

She frowned, "Is it too painful to lie on your front?"

He shook his head. Small tremors convulsed his body, powerful enough for her to see them in action. She felt the tiny shakes through his leather jacket, fingers ghosting the material. She took off her coat and lay it underneath his head for comfort.

"Daryl, I think your having a muscle spasm." She said, "I think your body over executed itself."

It was a bit of a no shit Sherlock sort of statement. He didn't answer.

"Can I please look at your back?" she asked, "Please."

His response was slow. A soft 'yes' was murmured to her. She did her best to be gentle as she removed the leather jacket and lifted the layers of flanneled shirts up. She'd never seen his whole back, only glimpses. She knew of the scars, saw parts of them, Walter's detailed descriptions filling in the gaps for her curious imagination.

Still it was a shock, seeing them all. They were old, probably as old as he was. Deep, dark brown bumps against pinky alabaster skin. The second she saw them, the way they patterned his body, the interloping lines forming crisscross along his back, she knew they were anything but accidental.

She didn't gawk. She didn't have time to. She gathered this information as she placed light fingers around the freshest area of pain, near the crater shaped abused flesh she caused a two months ago.

He flinched as she got close. She went back to the supplies they raided at the pharmacy. She handed him a couple of painkillers and helped him sit right to swallow them down.

"Your bullet wound hasn't ripped open or anything. I just wanted to make sure."

He didn't say anything to her, just plonked himself back on the floor. She didn't know if it was because of the pain or because of what she just saw.

"I'm going to make a fire. It'll help, getting you warm." She didn't know what else to do, "I grabbed a first aid kit, there might be something there that'll help."

He didn't stop shaking whilst she built the fire, neither did he answer. She found a bin and built one in there. Judith didn't move from her spot. Brooke felt sick, she didn't now what else she could do.

"Got cream."

She turned her attention from the growing flames. His head was turned to her, his face tired.

"Cream?"

"Muscle relaxant. In my pack."

Muscle relaxant.

She grabbed his pack and took a look. It was the first thing she saw, the tube still in the unopened box. He must've grabbed it at the pharmacy.

He must've been suffering a while.

"Got it." She opened the box, "I can put it on for you, if you want?"

Pause, "Okay."

Before she did that she sat Judith next to her. Brooke knelt beside Daryl's re-exposed back. She squirted a small amount of the numbing cream between her fingers.

His skin felt sweaty, hot, "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

He grunted in approval.

She rubbed the stuff in circular motions, avoiding the pink angry wound. Fire cackled, light dimmed, she worked her hands against the knots of his back. He flinched more than she liked, she knew it was still painful from the way he clenched his fists.

As she worked through each knot it became more prevalent just how off her assumptions of his scars were. They looked like lashings, reminded her of Medieval monks who flogged themselves as penance for sin. Each time the tip of her fingers met with the tattered flesh she tried to be tender. It was maternal, to try and ease away the marks she had nothing to do with.

"Was my father."

She frowned as she heard him rumble, "What?"

"My back."

She didn't stop. It would be rude to stop, to express her disgust, her demand to sympathise. She kept kneading, happier that the tremors were less frequent as she worked.

"Were they all him?"

She regretted asking the second she did. This was unexplored territory. She had no right to demand for explanations.

He answered though, soft and calm. No accusation in his tone.

"Couple ain't." His voice was even again, "Yours ain't."

She slowed, "I'm sorry I shot you."

"Was protectin' yaself."

"I'm sorry I shot you Daryl." He went quiet again. She worked on a spot higher, "Is the pain going?"

"Jus' sore now. No pain. Can stop." He turned his head, his movements ginger, his features gentle, "If ya want."

Blue eyes were on hers again, baby blues that made him look younger than he really was. She nodded slow, hands still on his back.

"Okay, but don't move. You need to give your back a break."

He gave a nod. She pulled his shirts down, got up and went over to look out the window. There were more walkers, most likely the rest that were stationed at the door. She went over to where a group of boxes stood and looked for something to cover themselves with. She settled for a box of unopened bed sheets that would never hit the store shelves.

She draped the sheet ontop of Daryl. After, she sat back down, fed Judith and soothed her to sleep. She crawled under the sheet, Judith cushioned in her arms, face opposite the older man's face.

"You okay?"

His eyes were hooded to a near close.

"Yeah. Better."

"No pain?"

"Like I said, just sore."

She nodded. Her conscience getting the better of her.

"Daryl," She took a breath for courage, "About what I said, back in the library when I mentioned your scars, I was an asshole."

His gaze was hard. She didn't care if it was a request to not talk about what he told her. She needed to say this.

"I didn't know what I was talking about and, well, even then it was wrong of me to mention it. It was a dick move on my part." She said, "I want you to know I'm sorry. For what I said."

He said nothing for a long time. After a while he closed his eyes and gave an attempt at a shrug.

"'S in the past. 'S over."

He didn't say anything else. She closed her eyes, not expecting to sleep but not surprised as she felt the familiar pull take her early again. It was becoming a habit, all this sleeping.

She didn't find it as big a deal anymore.


	18. Bottle Over Tap

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She touched him like he was delicate.

Daryl tried not to let it bother him, but the thought wafted in him through out the night. Calloused hands with rough fingers worked his body through the pain, the whole time treating him like he could break.

Pain made him sensitive, loosened his emotional vulnerability. She soothed his back, his ugly scars stared at her, but she said nothing. He mentioned how his father had marked him and she tried her hardest to appear unfazed.

All to spare his feelings.

Then she had to fucking apologise for the time in the library. As if what she just did wasn't enough to make him swallow hard lumps down his throat. She treated his body like a temple then had the nerve to call herself an asshole.

He woke up, back sore, arm wrapped around her and Judith. She was opposite him, face flushed with cold, mouth parted as she breathed out hot air that came out in threads of steam. Judith had a face that matched her own, warm and rested and innocent despite this all.

He got up slow, the sheet slid down, a pool of creased fabric settled on his knees. The fire was as good as ash. The winter sun filtered soft blue light into the store.

He felt sore, but he was warm. His body ached, but there was no pain. She had done this to him.

Daryl knew he felt conflicted less because of her kindness and more because of his past. He knew he'd probably never be a hundred percent okay with what happened to him, what happened in the old world, but he also knew he accepted it. Accepted the confusion, the willingness to take the kindness others gave him without thinking it wasn't deserved.

Or the willingness to try at least.

He'd always have issues with self worth. Carol once told him that people who'd been hurt in ways they shouldn't would always be like that. When you've been degraded, you can't help but see yourself as defective.

Still, Brooke saw what had been done to him. She had a first hand account on his past, aged half healed scars explained that to her without any words. Daryl proclaiming his father's role in it all was just the closing act.

Perhaps that's why her attention was so gentle, perhaps her guilt or pity was to blame for the way her fingers sang against his skin? The more Daryl thought of it the more he thought against it. She touched him like he was delicate, treated him with respect. Those other feelings were secondary to the care she took in making sure he was handled right.

Pity could only go so far to be so genuine.

She did not act for pity sake.

He could trace where the tips of her fingers danced against his skin. No one touched him like that. Not a soul had ever held him in a way that haunted him now.

He got up, tucking the sheet around Judith. He looked over at the window, the walkers scattered around the aisles. He started loading his crossbow, hands inserting the arrows into the bolt chamber.

He couldn't get it out of his mind. He considered claiming her hands as medicinal. Maybe it was the muscle relaxant? Perhaps that's why it felt so, felt so, so?

He shot the arrow, the bolt getting it's target without hesitation.

He didn't even know what the hell her hands felt like, beyond good, near healing, like she was whispering to him, soothing him with fingers.

There wasn't a word he knew that was right for it.

Another direct hit. He loaded the crossbow again.

He remembered how his mother would touch him. The few good memories of her, before she took up drinking too, and how she used to hold him all the time. She'd rub his back when he was sick and lull him to sleep, or just calm him down when he got antsy.

Still it felt nothing compared to how she touched him. Nothing could be compared to it. It was different and good and clean all at once.

He shot another time, hitting a walker but knocking a shelf. Objects rolled off, the undead gathered to it.

He bent down to load again. He saw her sit up from the corner of his eye. Judith was still sleeping, but she sat with her legs crossed, hands by her face as she rubbed the sleep away.

"Morning."

He nodded. She didn't bother getting up.

"How's the back?"

He stood up and shot again. He hadn't aimed, but it did get one. One of those lucky shots that made him look better at shooting than he was. Those shits did come in hand with being a master archer.

"Better." He said.

"Pain?"

He shook his head, "No."

She kicked the sheet off and stood up. She gave a quick stretch and walked over to one of the packs. She grabbed a jar of peanut butter and joined him by the window.

She unscrewed the lid and slid a finger into the jar, bringing a small bit of it in her mouth. She offered it to him. He did the same.

She checked the shop floor out.

"Not too many left."

He nodded, little bits of peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth. It was drying.

"Got most o' them. Can get out when ya ready."

"Not going to finish them off?" She asked. She scooped some more again, "Not that we can't handle them."

"Finish 'em now."

She looked down, "Is it bad I still want to raid the place?"

He stuck a finger in the jar, "Got enough for 'nother week at least."

Her mask was up again. He presented not to notice. She gave a hard look out the window, "I know, it's just." She licked off the peanut butter, "I don't really want to do this again. So soon."

He looked at her, a small frown threatening to form. She had a small hint of colour on her wasting cheeks, as if the notion was embarrassing to admit. He didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable so he shrugged the comment off.

"Won't be the last time we do it." He sucked his finger, letting it slide off of his mouth with a pop.

"You're right. Stupid, not being used to it after all these years, but I guess a part of me won't ever be used to this."

He looked at the jar. "You'll be okay." He said, "Not so stupid to wanna be safe."

She smiled at him, small but warm. Her eyes crinkled by her kids when she smiled like that. It suited her.

It went quiet. He felt jittery all of a sudden. Unsure.

"We need anythin'?"

"Like absolutely need? Not here." She scooped another bit of peanut butter with her finger, "Maybe next time we should grab some spoons. Don't want to think where our hands have been."

Rubbing circles on his back.

He scolded himself for the thought, chewed at his cheek as his eyes followed her digit into her mouth. He cleared his throat before turning to reload the crossbow.

"Will get spoons."

She screwed the lid back on the jar, "If we see some, it's not a necessity."

It was now.

He shot again. She put the jar away.

"So the muscle relaxant worked?"

He tightened the grip on his crossbow, "Looks like it."

"Want to hit the pharmacy again on the way back, grab more?"

He didn't want to talk about anything that reminded him of last night.

"Don' need to."

"Sure? It's okay with me if we do." She roused Judith, "I don't mind putting more on you either if you want."

Yes. Yes please.

"'M a'right."

She didn't think anything of it, "Okay."

She then fed and changed Judith. Grateful for the silence he finished the rest of the walkers quick, before he sat beside them after.

She handed him Judith. The baby smiled at him, her complexion meek and wary opposed to her usual happy self. He kissed her forehead.

"Ya good Judy?"

She nodded. He wasn't convinced.

"She's worried about you." Brooke said unscrewing the pot of baby food, "I think seeing you yesterday scared her."

He ran a hand through her curls, "Didn' mean to scare ya darlin'."

Brooke handed him the food and Judith's tiny feeding spoon, "Here you go." She looked at the baby, "Hey Judy, see, Daddy's much better now."

The little girl nodded again. Daryl started to feed her. Brooke sorted her pack as he tended to the child.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Daryl looked up, "Already did."

She rolled her eyes, "You know what I mean." She went on, "Does it bother you, Judith calling you Daddy? I didn't know if you wanted me to stop calling you that with her."

Course it bothered him. Whole damn thing bothered him. The damage was already done though.

"Tried to get her to call me Daryl when ya started." He said, "'S too close to Daddy for her, got her confused. Was too late for her t' call me anythin' else."

"Do you mind it?"

"Like I said, too late now."

She looked guilty. He didn't want her to feel bad for it.

"I wouldn't have called you that if I knew."

"Ain't too bothered." He wiped a bit of spit for Judith's chin, "People just think that's what we are, her an' me. Easy mistake."

"How long have you two been together?"

"'Bout a year and a half."

"Daryl, she's nearly two. That's over half her life with you."

"Don' care if it's all her life with me. She ain't mine, so I ain't her daddy."

The girl in question smiled at the word she recognised, "Daddy!"

Daryl fed her another spoonful, "Not now Judy."

Brooke sighed, "Your full of shit sometimes."

It wasn't harsh. If anything there was a hint of amusement in the statement. Daryl cocked a brow.

"Could say the same thing." He shot back.

She grinned, "Is it okay if I ask you another question?"

He went back to feeding Judith, "So long as it ain't stupid."

"How did you two end up together?"

He didn't find that inappropriate. He knew her enough to know she wouldn't judge his situation. She hadn't already.

Not that his life with Judith began in an illicit way. He hadn't kidnapped her or anything like that. They were all they had left.

"She was the daughter of a friend o' mine." he kept feeding her, "Lived in a community, started out with a dozen o' us and grew to double that and then some. Had it good, was safe for a while, ya know?"

She nodded, nostalgic, "Was it like my place in Boston?"

"Better, safer. Was a prison. We had fences and towers and barbed wires and all." He said, "She was born there. Her mama died durin' the birth, but she was raised right through it."

"And her father?" She asked, "What happened to him?"

He wiped Judith's chin with his hand. Bits of baby food and spit stuck to him as he recollected the tale.

"This guy wanted the prison for his own, wanted the people there too. We handed his ass somethin' hard, and he came back for revenge." It still upset him, thinking about it, "Came in with guns and people and a fuckin' tank. Flattened the wall, killed all o' them. Some o' us made it out, don' know, never saw 'em again. Found Judith in the woods by a body o' a friend and took her."

She didn't speak right away. Her eyes were on him, gaze narrow.

"You never found them?"

He shook his head. She fiddled with a pair of gloves he hadn't seen before.

"That guy, was he the one that got your brother?" She asked, "The one that got Merle."

He felt a slight ache at the mention of Merle's name. He had to search, force his short term to spit out her own brother's name, but she remembered his. He nodded again.

"Why you recon' that?"

"Dates match up for one thing. You said your brother died a after Judith was born." She explained, "Said he made sure the guy got what he deserved."

A stab in the dark of deductive thinking. A lucky, though uninformed, stab at the dark.

"Same man."

"It was the way you spoke about him too," she said, "You could hear it was him, you could hear it from your voice."

He looked at her, eyes wider than he'd like them to be. Judith grabbed at his hair, his gaze forced into the baby's face.

She frowned suddenly, "Who the hell has a tank nowadays?"

Daryl snorted, "Didn' do much neither. Blew it up with a hand grendade."

Her mouth practically dropped, "You took on a tank?"

He smirked, putting his attention on Judith instead. She continued to gawk.

"You took on a fucking tank, with a hand grenade, and won?"

"Wasn' hard."

Her mouth was agape. He had to admit, at the time he felt pretty damn cool. It was a tank.

She got up, shaking her head and picked up Judith. He twisted the baby jar lid back on and put it in the pack. She looked shocked, her head still shaking in disbelief.

She turned back to him.

"Daryl Dixon you're superhuman."

Was he still smirking? He was still smirking.

"W'at that make you?"

She snorted, "Out of my damn league."

That got a laugh out of him. It was rippled through him, straight to his gut. She shot him a look decorated in mirth rather than malice.

"Don't act all smug and help." She stuck Judith back on the sling, muttering. He couldn't help finding it funny. She was still bitching about it when they left the store and made it to the gun shop.

"A tank though?"

The gun shop was raided out completely. They'd managed to find ammunition in the store room. She brought it up again as they picked their way through an assortment of bullets.

"Not lettin' it go, huh?"

"Come on Daryl, it's not everyday I get to talk to someone who blew up a tank like it was cake."

He found a box of Fourty-Nine ammunition. He passed it over to her. She sliced it open with her knife and filled up her bag.

"Wasn' cake."

"Not how you described it."

He looked at her, dry, "Said it how it is."

She rolled her eyes, "Forgot that eloquence isn't your strong suit."

"Dixon's talk as it is. Don' need no fancy shit to get straight to a point."

"Your brother as gifted with words?"

He shot her a look, casual but prodding, "Ask a lot o' questions. W'at's the occasion?"

She kept searching, "You're the only person I can ask questions too." She said, "Besides, it's been two months Daryl. Nothing wrong with getting to know a person."

He scoffed, "This comin' from you."

She stopped working, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He passed a box of batteries to her, "Ya like Fort Knox, girl."

It went quiet. He felt like he'd pushed it far without meaning to. She shrugged, that mask of hers back on again.

She took the batteries, "We all have our faults I guess."

The conversation died a little after. It wasn't tense per say, the life for it dwindled and tired. It was quiet as they headed back to the car.

Daryl drove first, Judith on Brooke's lap. She dotted on the girl, the 'Dirty Dancing' album soft in the background as the car continued along the empty highway. The quiet was still settled between them.

She disturbed it gently, her voice sounding far away.

"I wasn't always like that."

Judith had the book in her lap, her mind absorbed in the illustrations. They'd been driving for sometime. Daryl glanced at her.

"Like what?"

"Like Fort Knox."

Her tone was off. A thin sheet of melancholia drifted with her voice, subtle but there.

"Don' beat yourself up over it." He said, "We all didn' start off like we are now."

He knew that as well as anyone. Guilt wafted through him in tides, his comment at the gun shop fresh in his mind. He amended his statement.

"Didn' mean what I said back there." He explained, "Just as closed off as you are."

"It's true though."

He wasn't going to debate whether it was true or not. It wasn't his place.

"Ya were just makin' conversation. Ruined it by bein' a bastard. Don' think much o' it."

She looked at him, face soft, "It's okay, I'm not mad or anything. You didn't upset me Daryl, it's just, well, it's true." She said, "I forget I wasn't like this some times. It's funny how things turn out."

She didn't sound like she thought it funny, she sounded like she used to. Daryl didn't like it, it wasn't like she made the best of company when they first met. He never wanted to deal with 'Brooke the Throat Stomper' again.

So instead he took a leap of faith. If that was all the penance needed for making her feel that way it would be paid. He cast the bait of useless small talk into their conversation.

"W'at were ya like before?"

She frowned, "Before as in before all this?"

He nodded.

"Oh you would've hated me." She sounded dead serious, but he heard the playful twang in her voice. It was there, faint, repressed, but it surfaced, "I preferred bottled water over the tap."

Of course she did. He felt his lips curl up.

"Sound's like ya right."

"Oh yeah, I was a real beast." She shifted in her seat, "I also never went to a bar before I was 21. I gagged the first time I tried a cigarette. Oh, you'll love this, I used to listen to Justin Bieber religiously."

He took his eyes off the road and looked at her, "Fuck, really?"

"Oh yeah, I dragged my girlfriends to watch 'Never Say Never'."

"'Never Say Never?'"

"It's a documentary about him." She said, "About the trails of being a pop sensation."

"They made movies 'bout that little shit?"

She was grinning now, "You're not a fan?"

"Hell no." He said, "Didn' listen to no Justin Bieber sorta shit, that's for sure. Just who the hell ya think I am?"

"You tell me."

He walked right into that one. His eyes were back on the road. Face in thought.

"Kinda guy who didn' buy no bottled water."

She looked out the window, face leaned on her palm, "You're alright Daryl."

He rolled his eyes, "'M alright?" He repeated, "Not like ya in any positions to make judgements."

"No, I'm not." She said, "But, you're not a bad guy. Bad guys don't act like you do."

"You an expert on bad guys, huh?"

"I've had my experiences." She looked at him, "That aside, I don't think you would've thought much of me before."

"Think pretty highly if ya think I think much o' ya now."

"Yeah well, it's not like I care too much about that."

He scoffed. She petted Judith's hair.

"Don' think ya da like me much either."

"No?"

"You and ya girlfriends hung out watchin' stupid pop star films," he said, "Wasn' my regular Tuesday night."

"What was?"

"Spendin' the night with Merle. Gettin' into trouble."

"You always get into trouble when you spent the night with Merle?"

"Can't have one without the other."

"What kind?"

He shook his head, "Every kind." He said, "Everythin' a mess with Merle involved."

She mulled it over.

"Merle the troublemaker."

She had no idea. He grunted. She lowered the volume of the stereo, cuddling a snoozing Judith.

"Guess that means he wouldn't have liked me much."

"Didn' like no one much. 'S Merle."

"So what, you were his keeper?"

"Was whatever," he said, "Keeper. Handler. Support when some chick wanted to break his nuts for sleepin' round."

"Oh, he was that sort of guy?"

"He was Merle."

"Did he have a type?"

"Anythin' human and with a pulse. He didn' care."

"Guys?"

"Anyone 'cept colours."

"Oh," she said surprise hinting light in her time, "He was racist."

He frowned, looking back at her, "Don' go thinkin' ya can run your mouth on him,'right. Didn' know him."

She shook her head in agreement, "No I didn't. And who am I to anyway?"

He believed her. He felt like he owed her context shrugged, "Merle was like two side o' a coin. He didn' live by no one's rules, but he wanted everyone else to live by his. Was the way he was."

"Doesn't sound easy."

"Wasn'."

She didn't say anything else right away. The familiar hum of the tyres on the road mixed with the stereo.

"Where you happy?"

He looked at her, "Does it matter?"

She nodded. He shrugged.

"He needed me. He was my brother."

She looked at him. He caught it out of the corner of his eye. There was something about the way she looked at him that made him feel exposed.

It wasn't an unkind look. Far from it, it was relatable, that was the problem.

She looked straight ahead, thoughtful. She said one last thing before falling to the quiet again.

"I could never judge you for that Daryl." She said, "I could never judge you for that at all."


	19. Not A Quitter

Hey guys!

Sorry for the long update! My parents decided to take the whole family on an impromptu trip to Dubai, and well, everyone knows how awful hotel wifi can be.

Anyway, here's the latest chapter!

Thanks so much for all the love, reviews, follows and favourites! I love hearing what you guys think, you cuties 3

* * *

Her eyes opened and a man was shaking her.

Brooke sunk back, body tensed as she scratched in front of her. Nails met with skin, the enamel scrapped against flesh. He recoiled. She tried to run, her consciousness registering that she was in a confined space before he gripped his hands on her shoulders.

"Brooke!"

She gasped, the sound anchoring her back.

It was Daryl's voice. Eyes focused on the face opposite her. It was Daryl's face.

Her heart pounded. She wanted to vomit, nausea and heavy breathing making her all the more lightheaded as seconds passed. He looked at her, face half in shadow as hooded eyes pierced her own, uncertain.

"Daryl?"

Her throat stung. It rasped raw as she spoke.

He nodded, "'S me." He said, "'S fine. Was a dream."

A dream. Her mind ripped through her memories, unable to find what she'd dreamt. She'd been taken prisoner in her own thoughts seconds ago, but she couldn't remember dreaming.

"A dream?"

"Yeah."

She was wet, her head sticky from perspiration. Her heart raced faster than it had the day in the grocery store.

She never dreamed anymore. Whenever she did it was the same one. It tormented her. It would always torment her.

Even without remembering the details of it, it tormented her still.

Daryl's hands were still on her shoulders. It steadied her, the rough palms on her frame. She needed to calm down, she felt the familiar heat of tears sting against her eyes.

"Ya okay?"

She nodded, "Sorry, I thought," her throat went dry, "I didn't think I was dreaming."

He let go of her, scooting a bit away from her along the car seat. She sat straighter.

"Judith? Where's Judith?"

He raised a flat palm, "Moved her."

"Moved her?"

"Got violent." He said as he leaned over to check on the sleeping baby in the front seat.

His face. She reached over to his shoulder, twisting him round so she could see his face. He stared at her blank, mouth parted a touch ready to protest.

"I hurt you."

She didn't know what it was, but that hit her close to home. If she'd managed to stop her eyes from watering before, she was finding it harder now. Daryl shook his head, eyes unsure where to look.

"'S just a scratch."

"It's not, I dug deep, we should clean it up or something."

"Brooke-"

"Where's the wet wipes?" She let go, turning away, "Help me find the wet wipes."

She started rummaging around the car floor for the packs. Daryl took her wrist, his touch gentle, his demand for her to stop. She froze, her body huntched.

She did not look up. She felt sick. She needed air. She was going to pass out. She was-

Another hand titled her body back upright. He let go, hands hovered close to her shoulders as eyes searched her face. He looked worried, concerned. His gaze didn't stay locked on hers, they roamed her features, searched it for the source of the pain. As if what plagued her was something he could see and fix, as if she wasn't as destroyed as he knew she was.

And despite all better judgement, despite the scream her brain made at her to do anything but, she felt herself cry before she realised she was doing it. It was a brief millisecond of spilt tears, and then, a large, unsatisfying gulp for air. Next thing she knew her face scrunched up, then the whimpers came.

She stayed like that for a further few seconds, soft, audible sniffs and moans escaped her as she felt the pain implode within her. Everything, the trauma, the betrayal, the death, all of it crushed her from the inside out. She cried so hard she didn't think she had enough strength to breath.

Then she felt him wrap his strong wasting arms around her, and hold her. It was rigid, awkward. She stopped, she was about to push him off when she heard him hush her. A quiet, calm hush, followed then by a gentle rocking.

One hand cradled her head, the other soothed her back. He held her like he held Judith when she was afraid. He was treating her no better than a baby.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to be angry over it. She couldn't dare herself to hate him for that. She knew she didn't even care if he treated her no better than a baby, his intentions were good.

That was enough for her, a man with good intentions. She could trust that. So she did.

She clenched a fist full of his shirt in her hand, and she wept. She cried in torrents at first, his shirt drenched, but then it died down enough to come in waves. Soon enough she cried minutes at a time, silent during these wet intervals, and then she didn't cry at all.

Her latest dry spell was the longest one yet. She felt him look down, his chin bent to see her head on his chest. She didn't look up, choosing instead to bury her head closer to the crook of his neck. If she was to be treated like a child she'd enjoy the comfort at the very least.

His chest rumbled as he spoke, "You awake?"

"Yeah."

He was still rubbing her back. She doubted her realised he was still doing it.

"You okay?"

"No. Your shirt stinks. It's hard to breath."

He tensed up. She felt bad quick and pulled a way a fraction to look at him. It had been an attempt at lightening up the mood, a poor one.

"I was joking Daryl, just in case you thought I wasn't." She said, "It doesn't smell that bad. Honest."

"Knew ya was. Not like you can talk, smell worse."

She smiled, it was meek.

"Be a while yet 'til we can bathe without freezin'."

"I don't want to thaw your boney ass, so I can live with waiting."

"Guess ya goin' have to deal with the smell then."

"Not your worst feature."

He snorted. His breathing relaxed her. The rhythmic rotations of inhales to exhales akin to a mantra. She closed her eyes.

"Is Judith still in the front seat."

"Yeah, she's fine tho'."

"How's your face."

"I'll live."

"I'd think so. You did take on a tank after all."

"Sound disappointed. Didn' know better think ya tryin' to kill me."

She smirked. He caught the movement, eyes darted downwards. She broke a part from him, her body sat close and faced opposite him. She must've been a sight, she was a down right ugly crier.

"Who me?"

He shifted, his back now leaned against the locked car door. Between the folds of darkness a soft almost invisible smile played on his face.

"Don' act dumb. Been tryin' t' off me since we met."

"Yeah well," she said, eyes drying, "What can I say, I'm not a quitter."

He nodded, a singular nod, "Ya not."

She inhaled a deep breath of her own. His smell, the mixture of smells on him, still dwelled on her clothes. It was stale, musky, there were traces of blood in his scent, his blood, walker blood, the familiar perfume of fresh sweat, the damp of the woods, the crisp earthiness of the outside. Then there was Daryl, the individual smell she associated with him. It was comforting and truly singular, nothing she could define or compare it with.

"Ya dream a lot?"

She tensed, "Not every night."

"Night terrors?"

She didn't answer. She didn't want to talk about it, "It was just a bad dream Daryl." she said, "A bad memory."

She looked at him, his face covered by strands of over grown hair. He looked away, he didn't like being studied.

"This bad memory," he went on, "Don' gotta talk 'bout it."

Sounded like they were talking about it. She looked down.

She evened her tone, "Nothing worth talking about."

They both knew it was bullshit. He had the heart not to say it though.

"This guy told me once we're the product o' our pasts."

She grunted, "I don't blame my past for the choices I make."

"Gettin' ahead of the story. 'Bout to pass words o' wisdom and all that."

She smiled, "Daryl Dixon, human fortune cookie."

He rolled his eyes, "Shut up."

"Go on great master," she teased, "Impart your wisdom to your noble student."

He gave her a dirty look. She grinned, wide. He shook his head.

"Ya past makes ya who ya are now," he said, "Not w'atcha become."

She mused it over, "I made me this way."

He considered it, "Ya recon'?"

She felt like crying again, "Yeah."

He thought it over, hand reaching into his pocket for a lighter. He grabbed his new pack of cigarettes and grabbed a smoke. He offered her one. She pulled a face and he rolled his eyes.

He lit up, "Never lived good before this."

"This is good living to you?"

He didn't meet her gaze, mouth sucking on the cigarette, "Not this here, but before. With my old group."

"The one you and Judith came from."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Never felt importan' 'til then."

"Sounded like you were important to Merle."

He breathed out a small cloud of grey smoke. His one leg pulled itself up and he rested his cigarette holding hand on it as he spoke.

"Differen' sort o' importan'. 'S different with blood. Didn' feel obliged t' help 'em out, but I wanted to." he looked at her then, "Felt like I belonged. Felt like if I wasn't there, people woulda missed me."

It was a statement, delivered as fact. Still, she could see the vulnerability in his eyes. Presenting this information to her was uncharted, new. A first for him.

"I think that's good and bad."

The ghost of a smirk flashed in the dark, "'Course."

"I think you got what you really wanted from those people." She said, "I also think that it must've hurt a hell when you figured out that what you had before wasn't what you deserved."

He took another drag, "W'at ya mean by that?"

"Sometimes you have it so bad for so long you think that's all there is." She started, "Then someone, or well sometimes lots of people, show you what you had before wasn't right on you. That having it that bad was _bad_ and that isn't what you thought it was. I mean no disrespect by saying this, but I think that's what happened to you."

He didn't say anything. Not for a long time. If he were a tortoise he'd be considering whether to submerge himself back into his shell.

She saw him decide against it for now.

"Not like ya think."

She stretched, "No. You're right. It's not. It's wrong of me to just put you in a box -arrogant even," she was gentle, her voice thick with concern, "But, I know what real hurt looks like Daryl. I know. I also know it stings worst from the people we trust most."

She forced her eyes to stay with his. He knew what she was on about. As if a reflex his hand reached behind him and patted his back. It was a quick movement, she doubted he knew he did it.

The cigarette was spilling ash on the car seat.

"'S that w'at happened t' ya?"

She swallowed, "It's how I'm sure it happened to you."

"Ain't talkin' 'bout me."

"Me neither."

"Whatever," He shook his head, "Mine ain't as recent."

That stung. She saw him regret saying the second he did. She brushed it off.

"Scars are scars Daryl." She said, "Doesn't matter when you get them, they'll always be there."

He looked away. The moment was over. Their trek into the figuratively uncharted had burnt them, their pasts still an area of hostility not worth sharing.

She felt guilt at her honesty. It was her intention to be truthful, not cruel.

"That came out harsher than it should've." She said.

"Was right."

"It wasn't about being right." She said, "You're a good man Daryl. I just wanted to tell you that it wouldn't kill you if you believed it."

His reaction erupted a sudden warmth in her chest. He looked at her, features a mix of timid surprise, as if he discovered that what she said about him was true. As if the very idea that he was special, wanted, was the most important thing in the world.

Because she was the one who told him that.

He cleared his throat suddenly, stubbing his cigarette out an putting the half smoked thing back in the box. He looked misplaced. She understood that look, it was common of people that just didn't know how to take a compliment.

He turned to her, blues near black from the dark on her orbs.

"How many walkers you killed?"

His voice was soft, curious. It sounded less inquisitive than she assumed he wanted it to sound.

She didn't frown, she didn't want to scare him out of asking her this. He was looking at her like this was the most important thing in the world to know, as if it were vital that she took it seriously.

"Countless, why?"

He asked the second question without so much as a hesitation.

"How many people you killed?"

Her guard went up. Mask sheathed her face, a shield from the outside world. Again, he sounded softer than he'd like, again she saw the urgency to this.

Her throat went dry. She forced her voice clear, "Three."

There was no falter in his gaze, no flinch, nothing. She felt like she missed the point in this all. She wanted to stop talking now.

"Why?"

She inhaled, "There was the man that wanted our supplies."

He nodded, remembering, storing it in his memories. A pause, his voice steady.

"The other two?"

That warm feeling in her chest fizzled. Her sense were greeted with the urge to breakdown again. She looked at him, a tired look.

She just didn't have the strength at the moment to hide behind her walls.

She couldn't say it. Not everything.

"Because I needed them to be gone."

A beat passed. One set of eyes studyied the other with fever. Daryl nodded, slow. She didn't have the stomach to speak. She was pitted with the feeling one would get after a test, the sort of test you don't know if you did enough to pass.

It made her self conscious, tetchy. She felt her leg fidget. Felt her eyes grow red again.

He sat back upright, getting ready to grab Judith, getting ready to go back to sleep. She was panicking. She suddenly needed to know why he asked her those things, maybe if she answered wrong he was gong to kick her out, maybe she was going to be alone again, maybe-

"Daryl?"

It came out cracked, distress. Her body had thrown up the name as an attempt to silence herself. He turned to her, obvious worry on his features, before he washed it down with calm. He looked at her, looked at her try her hardest not to seem so out of sorts as she was.

"Yeah?"

She was forcing herself to breath in rotations. She felt her legs bounce. She couldn't look at him, but she had to say something, anything, she did call his name after all.

But before she said anything, he scooted himself next to her. A hand was on her knee silencing the bouncing limb. Her head was glued down, and she saw his hand, large and cupped on her skin and it calmed her. It was better than any drug, better than anything anyone could've prescribed her.

"Ya okay Brooke?"

She looked up, lashes wet like dew drops of fresh grass. She was close enough to see the lines of soon to be sprouted wrinkles and months old sparse stubble. If there was any malice in him, it was smaller than microscopic, well hidden away from the world and her.

And all at once her brain was quiet. All at once she was better. She nodded slow, and smiled at him and he stayed like that for a moment more than he needed to, perhaps from confusion, perhaps fatigue, perhaps from both.

She admitted it must've been freaking crazy. Some loopy chick smiling at an idiot a few centimetres away from you. He had the decency not to make her feel like that though, she appreciated it.

He shifted and reached over to the front seat, scooping Judith in his arms. He turned to her, his free arm open. She settled next to him, feeling safe, her eyes closed so nothing more would spill.

His shirt was still damp. She cleared her throat, her head next to the crook of his neck.

"Daryl."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

One more rub on her back, "G'night Brooke."


	20. A Big Deal At The Time

Hey guys!

Here's the chapter! Enjoy!

Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favourites! I love hearing what you think! ❤️

* * *

Their streak of luck with the car came to an end. It was bound to happen, the snow made it near impossible to get out of Pennsylvania and they were running out of gas. Packs on their backs, weapons at the ready, the three of them left on foot.

Something had happened between them. Daryl didn't know what it was, didn't think it was a big change but it was significant. It wasn't friendship, it wasn't that it didn't resemble it, he just felt that it wasn't the right word for it.

He measured all of his relationships on a scale of personal value. The longer he was out there with her, the higher up on the scale she went. It effected everything he associated her with, how she acted with him, how she was with Judith, how she behaved with herself, especially when she thought no one noticed.

Then he berated himself for observing her as he did. He didn't want to come across as a fucking creep. He was close between the line of what could come across as healthy observation or low key obsession.

Either way, both options sounded as bad as the other. He wasn't familiar with thinking about someone like he thought of her. He didn't know fondness had a variety of intensities, his for hers warm and growing.

Like fire.

He wanted to believe she regarded him with the same esteem. That the looks she passed him after surviving a walker attack were true hints of concern for him. That every time she asked about his back, about how much he ate that day, about if he was cold, were because she cared about his comfort. That when a conversation turned to a subject he couldn't talk about, her nods were relatable, were of genuine understanding.

He saw her give the same nod when the conversation turned to Merle once.

"We don't have to talk about it."

They were in the woods. He had Judith today, she was in front. He watched as she conversed through thick snow and vegetation, her body pent up with more repressed chills than ever before.

"'S fine." He said, "Don' know how it ended up in conversation."

"I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business if he did any."

She said that a lot. She only did when she thought she overstepped their boundaries. Whatever those were.

"Merle did drugs since I could remember." He said, "Two times I ever known him t' try an' quit."

"Which were?"

"When he joined the army, first couple 'o months. And when he was with this girl."

She turned to him, smile coy, "Old Merle had a girl did he?"

"Beginnin' t' sound like me."

The smile didn't falter, "Was bound to happen. There are worse things." she waited up for him, "Maybe one day you might start talking in complete sentences."

"Quit thinkin' I'm stupid girl, ain't no shit 'bout shit yaself."

She looked at him, checks pinker than bubblegum from the cold. The colour brought her eyes out more. It washed her face out too, but it made those browns all the more striking.

It was pretty, in an unrefined sort of way.

"Don't think your stupid at all Daryl. Only stupid thing you've ever done is get your ass shot by me."

She didn't bother to wait for him. She walked on ahead. He felt his lips tug, a smile threatening to spill.

"Yeah well, stupidest thing Merle did was leave that girl." He continued, "She loved him more than anythin' and Merle loved her too."

"What happened?"

"She told him he had t' choose. His way o' life or her." He said, "Was never the same since, got worse after she left him."

She stopped, "Why didn't he go with her?"

He trekked in front of her, "And give up doin' what he pleases? Merle couldn' tell ya what love is if it hit him in the face, so ain't no surprise he didn' know what to do when it did."

He heard her catch up, "He never stopped loving her."

"Had her name tattooed on his chest."

"Wow." She drawled, "Permanent."

He rolled his eyes, "Know you and ya popstar lovin' girlfriends woudn' get a tattoo for nothin', or anythin' as damn predictable as that, but was Merle." He said, "Didn' have his own mama on him, was a big deal at the time."

She nodded, mulling it over, "Fair enough. I didn't think of it that way."

It went quiet, the comfortable silence that they both adopted filled the spaces where conversation was expected. They reached a ridge when she next spoke.

"You ever been in love Daryl?"

He shook his head. Faster than he thought was appropriate. He self-critiqued the gesture.

"'M like Merle. Wouldn' know love if it hit me in the face."

She snorted, "That's bullshit and you know it."

He turned his head to look at her fully, "Is huh?"

"Damn straight." She said, "Otherwise I might have to tell Judy to cover her ears."

"'S not the kind you asked about."

"No," she said, "But your answer was a bit broader than that."

"Judith don' know nothin' bout love neither."

"She does," she looked him dead in the eye, "She does because she adores you. And you know it too."

She looked down at the baby. Judith greeted her smile with one to match. Quiet as always when they were out, but reciprocative.

"Isn't that right Judith, you do love Daddy. You love Daddy just as much as much as he loves you. Can you say that? I love you Daddy?" she stretched the words nice and slow, "I love you Daddy. I love you."

He rolled his eyes at the display. Judith began to bounce on the sling, head tilted up with a smile that lit her whole face. He bent down and kissed her forehead. The gesture appeased her awakened enthusiasm, calming her quickly. Brooke smiled, smug, as if she'd proven a point he'd rather not admit to.

"Ya the devil, ya know that?"

As much as he tried to sound annoyed he couldn't put it across as harsh as he wanted. She gave him a wink, turned around and walked away. There was a bounce to her step, he saw it liven her as she trod ahead. Fresh energy traversing through her body from her messy ratty hair down her covered spine to the base of her muddied dirty jeans.

His eyes stayed curious on the round curves of her bottom, stayed there longer than he ever let himself look at her before.

A sharp, luscious heat travelled through him and pooled at his core. Except, where he expected to feel the consequential expectance of the discomfort or pain, he felt a familiar long lost pleasantness.

Arousal.

Strong, brief, arousal.

He then felt his body react to the sensation in revulsion. His heart beat quickened, the back of his head became hot. He blamed the heat from the panic he was swallowing back now. This was nothing more than that. This was not from whatever the hell that _feeling_ was.

She turned around, looked at him and frowned, "You okay?"

He cleared his throat walking forward, his pace brisker, "'M fine."

She nodded, the damn cautiousness thick in her movements, "Anyway, my point is that you know love Daryl."

He didn't want to say anything, "Right."

She kept on. He forced himself to remain nonchalant.

"So you've never been in love then?"

"No." His tone was crisp, even, "You?"

He forgot feeling embarrassed when he noticed the look on her face change. It was a quick one, an almost missable one, but he caught it. He was catching her true reactions more and more.

She answered blank face and casual, as she trained herself to do.

"Once."

That he did not expect, "Once?" He repeated, "Before the walkers I guess?"

She shook her head. She said nothing. This was a no fly zone with her, and she didn't want to be rude and tell him to fuck off.

She was still full of secrets. It drove him crazy that he didn't know what made her tick sometimes.

He asked this before he could stop himself. She never pushed a subject whenever he was uncomfortable. He hated himself for asking the second he did.

"Happened t' 'em?"

She didn't bother looking up. He knew why. Same reason like before, with the nightmare. Certain things made her break, she didn't know how to be vulnerable and strong.

She didn't think you could be both. Didn't know it was okay to be.

"He died." She said, "Six months ago. Give or take a couple of days."

He knew she knew exactly how many days.

"I'm sorry."

Another thing he didn't want to give her so carelessly. Pity was condescending to people like them. She shrugged.

"Me too."

She walked on, the quiet and the cold their friends. Thankfully, she didn't linger within her internal sadness for long. He believed she was doing better with it, that she tried harder not to succumb to the despair. On that particular night he did note she fidgeted in her sleep, her body movements spardonic next to his own.

So on that particular night, he pressed his body closer to hers. He soothed her, rubbed small conscice circles on her back, lulled her. She didn't wake. Whatever plagued her was strong enough to physically distress her but not strong enough to engulf her in frightful wakefulness.

If she were awake, she didn't make it clear to him. So he kept on, through the dark hours, and calmed her. He didn't stop until she slept sound again, until the only tremors that spilled through her body were a result of the cold and not her dreams.

It was retribution for the help she gave him with his back. Not that she was the sort to expect something in return, he wanted to do this for her. Even if she wasn't awake for it, to consciously know of the aide he gave her, he wanted to do this for her.

Besides, it wasn't like he wasn't getting anything in return. He felt good that he was helping her. A sort of hypocritical form of goodness one feels when they perform an act of kindness.

She made him feel good more than he let her know. More than he let himself fully accept or admit. His bones could glow with the heat she gave him, she was just so warm to him.

The morning eventually came. They bodies entangled, Judith snug between them. Since leaving the car their usual refuges included abandoned houses and fortified spots in the woods, places were winter played host. As he woke up, the unfamiliar surroundings of their latest sanctuary, an empty gas station's store, filtered with soft light of the day to come.

The refreshing, groggy feeling did not last long. He felt the problem. Woke up because of it.

He was hard.

He swallowed, a dry swallow.

Brooke's head was tucked under his chin. Her knee lay between his thigh. She was as close as physically possible to him, close enough that she perfumed the very air he breathed.

Well, not as close as _physically_ possible.

Daryl felt his heart palpitate. He peeled himself away from her, tucked Judith between her arms as he edged free. She stirred, eyes half open on him.

"Daryl?"

The anxiety stabbed at him with ferocity. He hid the tent in his jeans, put his arms in front of them in an effort to appear casual.

"Go back t' sleep."

She pushed strands of flyaways from her face, "You okay?"

He nodded. It was a fast nod, too fast, "Need t' piss."

She gave a much more relaxed nod, her arms wrapped tighter around Judith. She closed her eyes.

"Be careful."

She wasn't awake, not fully. She'd been in the same room with him when he wanted to piss before, so if she had been more awake she would've known this excuse was poor. He didn't stick around long enough to debate it. He got up, grabbed his crossbow and left the safety of the cleared gas station. He went to the side of the building, the cold air rushing his blood to his brain.

The winter sun was still on its climb across the dark sky. Daryl pressed himself against a wall, eyes looking round. No one was out, anything that could hurt them would be spotted without hesitation.

He looked down at the problem. It had deflated, not all the way, but a considerable amount. He just need to wait here until it passed.

He wished he took a cigarette with him. Anything to take the edge off. He hated how primal his body was, it made him feel no different to the walkers sometimes.

He didn't even know when he last had an erection quiet as prominent. Hard ons happened, not as constantly as before, but they still happened. This one though, this one was different, it felt painful, heavy in desperate need for release. It agonised him.

The last time he felt any sexual urge as angry as this was back at the prison. He blew off the steam with Carol, an awkward, robotic affair that they both laughed at afterwards.

Both laughed at and then explicitly agreed never to repeat.

He felt the pressure ease off from his loins just thinking about it. Carol was many things to him, a good lay was not one. He cared for her, a pure sort of care, the kind that just didn't make for good sex. It wasn't like he'd get her wet just touching her or vice versa. Her touch was too casual, too familiar.

It didn't make him think about it for days on end. Didn't make him want her to pull up his shirt and run her fingers all over his scarred skin. He didn't find himself reliving the moment over and over in slow motion, just to try and describe which exact emotions she evoked when her calloused palms met his-

No.

That dangerous surge of arousal simmered within him. It was just as strong as the first time he felt it, just as powerful. Only difference was the feeling stretched, it travelled through every artery, every vein in his body before it camped at his mind.

He could still smell her on him.

He swallowed a large mouthful of crisp air. It stung as he forced it down. It wasn't enough to stop his eyes drooping, his willpower waining.

He needed to get rid of this and fast. Brooke was the type to go looking for him. The image of her finding him against the wall, a God awful boner aching to be free, he didn't think he could handle that sort of humiliation.

Because, well, she wouldn't humiliate him. She'd be civil, understanding even.

He hated that thought even more.

He wouldn't be surprised if she got on her knees, unzipped his jeans, opened her mouth and—

"Fuck." He never sounded so pathetic cussing before in his life.

He looked down. It wasn't moving anytime soon. He swallowed, the lump thick in his throat.

He'd be fast. It wouldn't be bad if it was fast. He didn't have to think about her, there were other things.

He palmed his bulge through his jeans, head rolling back as he squeezed. Yes, this was okay. He was human. Humans had urges. He was hard, everyone got hard.

 _Not everyone got hard for her_.

If his self control was once balanced, this was a fist pounding the scales. He unzipped his jeans, the morning air licked the tip of his member as it greeted freedom. He eyed around again, making sure no one else was around, before he grasped the velvet soft skin in his hand.

Just holding it made his knees weak. He didn't realise how bad he needed it until then. He move his palms up and down the shaft in slow calculated movements, squeezing the tip ever so slightly on every few pumps.

It was mechanical at first. Then his body gave into the feeling. Every movement a hit of pleasure, his brain giving in more and more each time, until he had blissed himself out enough to fantasise.

He didn't want to think about anything. He did anyway, again, it was primal. He'd lost control and in retaliation his mind thought of her as his body fucked himself.

It was small snippets at first. He pretended she was doing this, that it was her hand pumping him, her fingers wet with leaking pre cum. That she was whispering to him to cum all over her, asking *Daryl* to cum all over her.

Then she was ontop of him. She was touching his back, licking his scars, her tongue trailing down, down, *down* towards the cleft of his ass. She was telling him how much she liked touching him, how hot she felt touching him. How she'd do anything to touch him like this.

He wasn't tugging slow anymore. His eyes were screwed shut. Flashes of her danced across his vision.

He imagined how it would feel to fuck her. Animalistic, she would probably grunt, her breasts would probably shake as he pounded her over and over, harder and harder. And she'd demand it hard, order him to screw her, scream his name proud without embarrassment. He could imagine looking into her eyes, the fire ablaze, and seeing him fuck her in the reflection.

He was so close, he was muttering profanities, swearing against any God there was left to listen to him. A mild sense of disgust creeped up on him, but he pushed that back. He didn't care. She was making him feel good, the Brooke in his mind was making him feel good.

He was so far gone that the act of conjuring images proved too difficult. All he could manifest was her voice. Hoarse, raspy, begging for orgasm, her shallow breaths weeping for him to make her feel good, to give her what she wanted.

That he was what she wanted. What she needed. What she craved.

He lurched forward when he came, his body curled, his muscles contracting with incredible force. White sticky liquid coated his palms as he spilled himself in heated pleasure. He nearly lost balance, it was that powerful. He lurched himself against the wall, his legs unable to stop him from sliding down it.

If a walker heard him, he'd be done. He wouldn't be able to react fast enough. His brain was as good as goo right now, his limbs were no better.

He wiped his hands against the wall, pulling himself up with his crossbow. He didn't know which he needed more, a nap or a cigarette. Stood up, he opted for both before sorting himself out and heading back.

He could barely keep his eyes open when he came back into the store. He climbed over the barricade they had made to alert them of walkers, and all but limped back to the two sleeping bodies on the floor. He grabbed a wet wipe from Judith's pack and wiped his hands clean from anything else.

He didn't think he had the energy to take that cigarette.

At this point even sleeping sounded exhausting.

Judith opened her eyes a fraction. She wriggled in Brooke's arms, waking her. She opened her eyes again.

"Hey."

His eyes met hers, before darting away quickly at his crossbow, "Hey."

"What time is it?"

He didn't care, he was sleeping, "Don' know."

She sat up. Judith sprang free from her grasp, her little legs waddled her tiny frame to Daryl. She sat herself on his lap.

He felt sensitive. The weight was unwelcome. She looked at him smiling.

He smiled back, "Mornin' sweetheart."

"Mownin' Daddy."

He suddenly didn't want Judith to touch him. He felt repulsive. Unclean and disgusting, to disgusting to be handling somethings so precious as the little girl on his lap. Recollections of his fantasies sprang back to life, the vulgar animal nature of them all.

He didn't dare look at Brooke.

One account for shame, the other account on the disrespect he inadvertently handed her. He felt guilt, massive guilt, at his weakness. He had defiled her in his mind. He was no better than a pervert.

Brooke crawled over to them, sitting crosslegged next to Daryl. Judith looked groggy.

"Looks like you need more sleep." she said.

Daryl nodded, "Couple extra hours won' be bad for her."

"Was talking about you."

He looked at her, forcing his face calm. She was rubbing her neck, her tight bun a grand mess.

"Don' need t'. Just a little tired, can last the whole-"

She cut him off, "I had another nightmare last night Daryl."

He looked at Judith, this was all a bit much all of a sudden, "Ya was fine."

"I remember waking up, you were awake too."

She looked at him dead on, he caught her gaze. He searched a hundred times, but again there was no malice in her features. No hostility in her tone. She was just looking at him, her face kind, like she did a lot these days.

Like he deserved to be looked at like that.

He shrugged, "Didn' bother me."

She smiled. Her face had a tendency to glow when she did that. So did Daryl's.

"Daryl, get some sleep."

He didn't want to deny her. His body craved rest. He just felt dishonest. Dishonest and wrong.

Brooke took Judith and propped her on her lap. She got up. Daryl watched her stand there for a moment.

"Are you okay, you look a little pale."

He cleared his throat, "Just tired, be okay."

She looked at him, concerned but against prodding further on the topic. There she went with that look again, that kind one that was burning a hole through his very core.

"Thank you for last night."

He'd do it again in a heartbeat.

He shrugged, "No big deal."

She turned to Judith and kissed her. The baby urged her to read her favourite book. She agreed and leaned the baby down to kiss Daryl. Judith slobbered on his cheek.

Before getting up Brooke stayed a moment. Daryl sat transfixed as she pressed her hand on his forehead, the cold digits bringing him back to the time she checked him for fever back in the Base those months ago. It was a brief encounter, innocent and gentle. After, she let her palm dwindle down to his cheek giving it a singular soft rub.

It was like her hand had gone through his body and shared her fire with his very soul. Daryl had never experienced anything so chaste feel so intimate, especially something so simple as a slight pay on the cheek. She looked at him again, smile on her face.

"Sleep well Daryl."

He nodded, he couldn't do anything but. She got up, ignorant to what she'd done to him. He felt the need to hide away, laying down with his back turned from them.

The feeling he got in his chest was a thousand times more painful than anything he could claim as similar. It lasted longer too. He had it right until he fell asleep.

He had it after as well.


	21. Hell And High Water

Hey!

Here it is! Little late, sorry again, I'll be on time one day lol :P

Anyway, thanks for all the love, reviews, follows and favourites. I enjoy hearing what you got to say :) ❤️

* * *

She noticed it.

His face betrayed him when she made him laugh, his eyes brighter when she found herself smiling at him. He caught the little things she said with interest, more now than ever. He played along with her questions, dedicated his ears to her stories and never missed a beat, a plot twist, a side note in her mundane recollections of the past.

Then there was the way he looked at her. It was the unidentfied no man's land of looks. There was something sentimental about it, every glance a quiet admission of fondness. He didn't let it slip easy, the few occasions he dared let her see it a crack on his emotional wall. She once said his eyes were mirrors, that they were both one and the same. This time the mirrors spoke, they showed her who he was thinking about.

How deep his thoughts for her went.

It was also, in a way, unintentionally explicit. She caught him take her body in and covet it in his thoughts. That he didn't let slip as often, the times were few. Even then, the few times he did do it she wouldn't class it as leering. There was affection in the brief perversion, and she had to admit he didn't look at her in ways that made her feel disrespected. Objectified momentarily, but she also saw the repulsion, the shame, the instant regret his eyes would scream after he let himself look at her that way.

It scared her the first time she saw it. She was sat with Judith playing peek-a-boo, he was sharpening his knife. She saw his head look up in her peripheral vision, and she looked at him. It was the darkest she had ever seen his eyes. Lust, small fragmental embers of it flickered in them, but they weren't crude. Opposite if anything.

His eyes desired her, but they also adored the sight of her.

It made her chest swell. Made her loins traitorous, a tiny surge of arousal bloomed between her thighs. It horrified her to no end, him wanting her, her body liking it, her heart liking it too.

She noticed it.

She didn't know what to do.

She didn't want anything past platonic with anyone.

Not again.

*But* she liked how he wanted her. She liked how he made her feel. Hell, if she was being honest, there was no denying she liked him.

He was a good man. Stubborn as all hell, but he understood her wave length. He saw the world in the in betweens of black and white. Even when confrontational he was level headed, even when emotional he remained rational. He admitted when he was wrong, wasn't afraid to fight her when he was right and, best of all, he was humble about it. He was a perfect combination of opposites.

And he cared for her.

She felt conflicted as she thought it over. She didn't want anything like she had before, but that wasn't on Daryl's account. Most of it was her own fault, her own inability to let herself trust as carelessly as before.

She knew Daryl respected her. If he didn't, he wouldn't act so ashamed about wanting her like he did. It made her understand just how badly he was treated before, how much he second guessed his own self worth when he thought he jeporidized her intergrety. That he was, for whatever circumstance, just as scarred emotionally as he was physically.

Still the idea of being closer to him panicked her. She didn't dare think of anything sexual. Besides, there wouldn't be much point in that if she couldn't let herself trust him all the way.

So she opted for waiting it out. She gathered it was just a faze. People were social, sexual beings. It was normal to feel things like that.

As was not jumping the boat and just giving into said urges. Without control, they were no better than animals.

Trouble was, she was starting to give those looks too.

She didn't know if she let any of them slip before either.

She also didn't know if she made up the entire thing because she felt things for him. That was as real a probability as any of her other theories. She could've been reading all this wrong and got herself worked up for nothing.

It wouldn't be the end of the world. She could handle disappointment. She couldn't handle shame.

He caught her thinking about it when they reached the boarder of Maryland. He had said something to her and too engrossed in her thoughts she hadn't heard him.

"Brooke?"

She blinked, "Sorry," she turned her attention on him, "What did you say?"

"Said we're in Maryland."

A soft resolution of triumph swelled inside her. It had taken them a hell of a lot longer than it should have, the snow set them back way more than she liked, but they were here. They were in Maryland.

She smiled, "Wow, I can't believe we made it."

He frowned, his hand on Judith's head. She was strapped on Brooke today.

"Y'alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. You?"

He nodded. He went ahead of her, "Let's get goin'."

The snow was less here. She trekked behind him through the forest, the ins and outs of dead branches and foliage a manoeuvrable maze. As they made their way Daryl raised an arm in warning.

He had heard something. Arms poised, he had the posture of a ballroom dancer as he held his crossbow high. She brought her knife out, her own steps silent as she stalked with him.

The ground below Daryl's feet crumbled.

All at once his arms were high, a free hand grasped at the earth for stability. Brooke heard the walker at the bottom of the hidden ditch spring from the snow. She grabbed at Daryl's hand, body squared and pulling him with all her strength. The man kicked at the monster by his feet, his hits bone crushing in force.

The force of the kick was enough to topple the walker. It was not enough to kill it. When Daryl's boot meet with the undead bastard's face it thrusted him forward, Brooke's grip on his arm slipping out of his hand, her own balance compromised.

She felt the pain of the fall before she understood that she tumbled down the ditch. She had no time check if Judith was okay. No sooner was she on the ground, a mouth full of dirt and snow soiling her taste buds, did she feel a body on top of her.

This was all instinct now. She pushed the walker's head as far away from her as possible with one hand. She dropped her knife in the fall, her other hand patting around the snow distress for it.

She heard Judith screaming.

This thing couldn't take Judith.

Not Judith.

Then, faced with the face of death itself, she saw the impact of the arrowhead penetrate the walker's skull. Blood sprayed onto her face, covering her hair, her clothes, Judith. She held up the walker for a second more, stared at it's disfigured head and pushed it away.

Daryl slid down the ditch. She got up and reached for her knife. Another one came from behind him, one she didn't know he saw.

She got up, her side burning, and in one precise gesture she stabbed at the walker's head. Daryl shot another arrow, and another. He turned to her, crossbow at the ready, waiting for more.

None came.

They did not move.

None came.

Eyes met with eyes, both certain that for now they were safe. Brooke jerked Judith free from the sling and checked her over. Poor girl was silent, she didn't know if that was good or bad.

Daryl checked her body for bites. She was clean. He then checked Judith for any swelling or bruises. Nothing. Brooke had managed to cushion her from the fall.

She was covered in blood. Brooke turned to Daryl.

"Can you wipe her face?"

He nodded, reaching the pack. He wiped the child's face quick and tossed the dirty thing on the ground. Brooke grabbed one and wiped her face too. He looked at her, hands turning her as he looked for bites.

"It didn't get me."

"Ya fell off a ditch." His voice was rough, "Goddamn near broke ya fuckin' neck."

She felt tender, she was sure the side of her face was swollen with various degrees of purples and blue bruises. They were out in the open, now was not the time to sort her out.

"Daryl, we can't do this here. It's not safe."

He shook his head, "Ya fell off a ditch, Brooke." He repeated, "Just give yaself a minute."

She sighed, looking Judith over again. Her body was in pain, a lot of it. He was right, but truth be told she didn't want to give herself a minute. It hurt enough to bring tears to her eyes and she didn't want to admit to them. Denying the pain for now was easier than succumbing to it.

"I'm fine Daryl. Let's just go. We need to find someplace safe, please."

She stuck Judith back on the sling and walked forward. She winced. The weight of everything was agony for her right now. The man pulled her arm around his neck and supported her.

"Find a cave or somethin'. Need t' take a look at ya." He said, "Don' be a wise ass or nothin' 'bout it."

She nodded, "Okay."

They walked together. Her legs worked, a good sign, but they were numb from the fall. The same could be said about her arm and back. They moved quiet and slow, looking for a way out of the ditch that didn't involve climbing.

It seemed that they were on in a small frozen creak, so small that she wouldn't have noticed it if it wasn't for the rocks. They were going to admit defeat after a near hour, but sheltered between thick tree roots was a hollowed out indent within the earthy slope.

The concave was not deep. It was tricky to get between the dead roots, but that just made it feel safer. As they settled themselves they decided against making a fire and used the torch for light instead.

Brooke took Judith off the sling, Daryl holding her as she checked on her injury. She slipped her jacket off, rolled her sleeves up and looked at her arm. It was covered in scrapes, large portions of skin ripped off as the friction between her and the dirt impacted each other. It was worse on her side, her body burnt from her hip to her upper waist. She'd have to take her jeans off to check the extent of her leg, but she'd wait until Daryl and Judith were asleep.

She grabbed the medical kit from the pack, unscrewed the rubbing alcohol and splashed a reasonable amount onto some cotton pads. She dabbed it on her arm and recoiled. It stung like a motherfucker.

Daryl cleared his throat. She looked at him. His features were gentle, stoic as per, but there was an element of concern in his eyes that weighed heavy on her.

He was trying hard not to show how much she worried him. His body feigned calmness whilst his eyes stated the opposite. It was more apparent in the way he spoke, the way his voice stressed on specific words and the fluctuating pitch of his tone. As if he was saying one thing by saying another.

"Ya want me t' do it?"

 _Please let me do it._

"Be easier on ya."

 _I_ _want_ _to_ _take_ _care_ _of_ _you_.

The swelling feeling, the one in her chest, the one she got often when she was with him, smoked within her. She didn't want him helping her, but in that moment she just couldn't find it in herself to tell him no. It wouldn't have been a surprise to have shook her head or shrugged or told him she was fine to do it, but she didn't.

Instead she nodded, a singular brisk nod.

"I can hold Judith." She said.

Her voice was soft. Tired and strained. She didn't like feeling so out of control, so required to be nursed. It made her feel inferior, made her feel like she did back at the Base.

Daryl handed Judith to her. She plopped her on her lap, the child's chatter quiet as she played with her book. Daryl sat by her side and she handed him the kit and cotton.

Her breath hitched as the ethanol ate any bacteria on the scrapes on her arm. His touch was gentle, thin hands worked on the battered angry flesh fast. He worked in silence, they both did, until he finished the few scrapes on her arm.

"Ya want me," he paused, throat audibly dry, "Should I do ya side?"

She tilted her head to him. His face was still unreadable, yet she felt the same weight again. The way he asked her was timid, too timid for Daryl. She nodded, lifting her shirt, the cruelest of the cuts unveiled. His hand ghosted above it, eyes set in their focus as he cleaned the skin.

This one was painful. She couldn't hide that on her face. Her eyes closed as she inhaled another sharp breath and furrowed her brows. She felt a thumb soothe her waist as his other hand worked.

A second after, she heard him.

"Ya lucky ya didn' break nothin'."

She didn't open her eyes. Her words came through gritted teeth.

"I'll try harder next time."

His thumb was still rubbing circles on her starved waist, his hand absentmindedly placed next to her hip. She forced her eyes to open and looked at him. He looked up, his head titled. Before she could talk herself out of it, she took his hand with her free one and held it.

"Sorry." She said. Her voice was soft, "It hurts."

It wasn't exactly untrue. It did hurt. She wanted to hold onto something whilst he cleaned her up, so that in itself wasn't a lie.

She also wanted to tell him that holding her hand was okay. To tell herself that holding his hand was okay. He was someone who cared for her, and had watched her fall off a steep ledge. She wasn't the only one who needed the comfort.

And, more than anything, she just wanted to hold his hand.

She sure hoped those feelings of hers, whatever those messy feelings were, were mutual. If she got this wrong, got her theory on his opinion of her wrong, she didn't think she'd handle it well. She didn't think she was strong enough to accept it.

He let her hold his hand though. It was sweaty, limp. It was so clammy she almost thought he'd never held hands with another person before.

He let go a few seconds after. She felt her stomach sink. She then saw him soak another cotton bud in the rubbing alcohol before settling his hand ontop of hers. Fingers looped between hers in response, squeezing her palm in reassurance as the more sensitive areas were tended.

Again they were limp, sweaty. Again it just enforced the idea that he once lived deprived, deficient almost, of physical contact. His actions were shy, his thumb raised from both their hands for several seconds before stroking her palm.

She didn't want to scare him with the intimacy, she knew it was a big deal. Instead of dwelling on the moment, on how just doing this made her glow, she kindled their conversation.

"Is it bad?"

He didn't look up, "How'dya mean?"

"The cuts?" She asked, "What's the damage Dr. Dixon?"

His lips tugged briefly, eyes darted on hers for a second, "Scrapes and bruises. Looks lot worse than it is. Won' scar."

She nodded, her free hand playing with Judith's curls. He spoke again.

"Still got that muscle relaxant. If ya want it?"

She mused it over, "Might be a good idea."

"Goin' bandage this so it stays clean. Ain't too deep, but 's big enough to catch a nasty infection."

"That's the last thing we need." She said, "Daryl?"

He looked up,"Yeah?"

"At least we're in Maryland."

He rolled his eyes, a small grunt escaping him, "At least we're in fuckin' Maryland."

She smiled at him. He unlaced his fingers from her hands and reached over for the muscle relaxant. She watched him lather a decent amount of the clear gel on his palm and then rub it on her skin. It was cold, a sharp contrast from the alcoholic burns coming from the cuts.

A minute passed. She closed her eyes. Judith wriggled restless on her lap.

She looked down, "You okay Judy?"

The baby looked up at her. She was unamused with sitting still. Brooke turned her round to face her, her hand caressing the child's cheek.

"You're bored aren't you sweety?"

"Buk, buk?"

She held the item in question with her chubby hands. Brooke took it from her, all the while Daryl massaged the gel into her skin. He didn't give her a chance to give in to the child's demand.

"Brooke's tired, Judy."

Judith looked at Daryl. She ignored the comment. Brooke loved watching the baby defy him, about as much as she loved Daryl take it.

He was wrapped around the girl's little finger. Brooke knew if Judith asked Daryl for the sun one day, he'd give her that and then some.

"A couple of pages wouldn't hurt," she told him, "Aren't I right, Judy?"

He started bandaging the cut, "Any point in me tellin' ya not to?"

"You could always read to her."

He shrugged, "She wants ya t'. She likes it from ya."

She shook her head, "I don't think she cares much." She said, "Besides, I like it listening to you read."

She felt him pause from his work, hands lingering as he chewed the information over, "Ya do huh?"

"Yeah.," she said, "It's calming."

"Calming?"

She nodded, "I've wired it in my brain that if you have a moment to read to her it must be safe enough to listen."

"Damn think I'm invincible, dontcha?"

He finished. She turned to look at his work before answering him.

"I know you're not invincible Daryl. Did nearly kill you myself, after all."

She saw his eyes twinkle before he rolled them. She grinned, toothy and lazy. She was sore, she was starved, she was cold but with them she always felt that much safer.

He didn't bother packing anything. Instead he turned himself so he was sat next to her, taking the book from her hands. She smiled, a small smile, at the victory, her arms settled around Judith ready to listen to the story.

He opened to a random tale, not one of Judith's favourites, but she doubted he cared. He began to read, she could hear the waver in his voice. It wasn't custom for him, for his voice to tremor, even as small and slight as it did then, but she knew why it had. He was now aware that she paid attention to that insignificant detail about him. One that now, no matter how much he wouldn't want it to be, would never be insignificant.

She wondered if there were things about her that he regarded just as close. Wondered if she'd act as cautious. She repressed a snort when she remembered how he took to her sleeping, how much she hated that he noticed that about her. It was a different comparison, but if that was how she handled that then they weren't dissimilar in reaction.

He was reading Judith, 'The Princess and the Pea'. She paid little attention. After a while she leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Her back ached from the heavy packs, her one side from the fall, stomach from the hunger. They didn't sleep as well when outside, the lack of a conducive shelter always put her on edge. She wouldn't sleep well tonight, neither would he, but at the moment she could pretend she would.

He finished the story. Much to Judith's dismay he refused to tell it twice. He put her on his lap and fed her, Brooke peeled herself away and opened up a can of tuna for the both of them.

She passed him a spoon. On their way out of the grocery store he picked up a dozen of plastic ones. He was so crabby when he did it she had laughed at him.

Judith was still on his lap as he ate his share of dinner. She put a small half spoon in her mouth, savouring it best she could.

She looked at him, her face cradled a grin.

"Want to hear something funny?"

He didn't reply. He didn't bother nodding either. The look he gave was affirmation enough.

"Before all this happened, I was a vegetarian."

He snorted, "Now ya just fuckin' round."

"I'm not lying Daryl, true as can be. I was an animal hugging, fur hating, meat loathing vegitarian." She gave him a look of pride for the fact. One that could be confused for jesting.

"Girl I saw ya tear into a whole squirrel once." He said, "No way you're a veggie."

She rolled her eyes, "Well obviously not anymore," she said chewing up the tuna, "It's the end of the world, screw the animals. It's all or nothing now."

He shook his head, "First Bieber, now this? Hell, ya ain't allowed to spend anymore time with Judith. Don' want her thinkin' she don' have t' eat no animals or any o' that hippie bullshit."

"I swear I found killing my first walker better than my first spoonful of spam."

He shrugged, "Yeah well, spam's shit."

She continued eating. He spooned another morsel into his mouth.

"How long was ya a veggie for?"

"Seven years."

"Fuck that."

"Hey, I might not have a choice, but I still stand by it." She said, "If any form of order befalls the world again, and oh I don't know, we somehow mange to have a choice in what we eat, I'm going back to it."

He shook his head, smirk on his lips, "Na y'ain't. You'll miss it."

"Nu-uh."

"Ya'll go tellin' everyone ya won' touch nothing with no beatin' heart, but you'll come to me on the sly." He said, "Can see it now, 'Hey Daryl, can finish that steak 'f ya want. Won' eat it o'course, nope, just make sure ya never see it again."

"You sir, have it all wrong."

"Got it played out and ya know it."

"Think your so smart, do you."

"No," he smiled then, "I just know you."

His eyes were on her. The gaze lingered a few seconds longer than expected. Instead of looking away she smiled.

"Guess the real question is, would you give me the steak?"

He snorted, "No way in hell. One thing worse than a vegitarian's a lyin' vegetarian. Got an example to set with my kid."

His kid. When they first met he didn't call Judith that. It was so natural he didn't notice the slip, and she couldn't help herself but like that he didn't.

They continued eating. Judith played with the cuffs of Daryl's shirt. She watched her entertain herself in awe.

"I hope we find it."

He nodded, "Close now. Be a day an a half by car t' Washington."

"I hope we find it." She repeated, "You two deserve some security."

It went quiet. He picked around with the fish as she reached over to take another bite.

"Thought 'bout whatcha doin'?" He asked, "When we get there?"

It was a loaded question. They never discussed what would happen after they found the place. She chewed her food slow in contemplation before swallowing.

"If they let us in, guess I'll see if I want to stay."

"And if not?"

He was doing that thing again. Saying one thing but really saying another. Except this time she didn't know what it was he wanted to know.

"I'll go. You were right Daryl, about me not being prepared before. I think I'd have a better shot at it now." She said, "I've got a better sense of it."

"So why leave?"

Her heart rate rose. The subjected stirred her inner anxiety.

"Because there's no point in staying if I don't feel right being there."

He wanted to say something, she knew it. He was going to say something too, but it wouldn't be what he wanted to say. He gave her the rest of the tuna.

"Eat it, don' want it."

She held the can and spooned more food.

He spoke, "If ya think ya can't stay there, won' stay there."

She frowned, "What you and Judith? You insane?"

He wasn't insane. On the contrary, he was dead serious.

"Got no chance on ya own."

"Daryl, cut me a break." She said, "I'm not helpless."

"Ain't that." He said, "People ain't built t' be alone. Ya need us."

She didn't want to swallow that truth. She didn't know what frustrated her, the fact or how easy it was for him to lay it on her.

"I don't need anyone, Daryl."

"Bullshit." he said, "Don' take it so personal. 'S not like I'm sayin' we don' need ya either."

She raised a brow, "You need me?"

If it weren't for the flashlight she wouldn't have seen the tint of rouge on his cheeks. It was just a shade darker than his skin, but it was enough to spot.

He tried to be casual about it, "We're a team. We go were you go."

She blinked, "Really?" She asked, "Hell and high water?"

"Within reason girl. Ain't havin' ya push me 'round." He shuffled, "'spect the same for ya, but woudln' put it past ya and ya double standards."

She gave a small smile, "Takes one to know one."

He gave her a look. They threw that back at each other too often. She thought that it was about time they kept score.

She looked at him, expression one of soft concern and muted seriousness.

"You'd really come with me instead of stay in a place that kept Judith safe?"

He thought about it, "Need t' see first. If it's safe as ya say might have to stay for her. It's Judith. But," he looked her in the eye now, "Got good sense in ya. Ya don' think it's worth stayin' must be a reason."

"You shouldn't give everything up on a case of speculation."

"Ya should start followin' ya own damn advice," He said, "but since when ya ever been the type t' do as ya told?"

She smirked, "Never."

The look he gave said likewise. She finished the can. They spoke no more on the matter. After dinner he offered to looked at her leg, which though pained had nothing of note to tend. They spent the night as they always did, bodies pressed together as the cold bit into them.

The night passed. Sleep was fickle, attained after hours of shivering in Daryl's arms, her hands rubbing his body in an attempt to hand him warmth.

What woke her was not the daylight, it was a scuffle. Daryl woke too, hand on his crossbow, but Brooke hushed him. She grabbed her knife and went out, telling him to look after Judith.

She slipped between the tree roots, body against it for cover. Her vision caught glimpses of Daryl armed and watching her. There a figure stood in front of them. She watched, gun at the ready, prepared.

The figure, a woman, turned and saw her. Brooke stepped out and pointed the gun at her before she could.

The woman did not hold her hands in the air. She did not move. Her face was wrinkled, her features maintained a mix of cool surprise. There was no fear in them, if anything there was understanding. She was like Brooke in that respect, not ignorant in how these affairs were dealt with.

She did not speak. Brooke held the gun to her, aimed to kill. She did not waver when she spoke to her.

She vowed never to handle anything like that night with the couple.

"Make your way. There's no need for trouble."

The stranger looked her in the eye. Calculated, her mind processed, her thoughts-

The stranger's face lit in true surprise. Brooke frowned. She titled her head, just enough to see behind her.

It was Daryl. His crossbow lowered. His eyes just as wide.

"Carol?"


	22. A Pretty 'WTF' Moment

So people freaked out last chapter, I'd say I felt bad about it but I'd be lying. I'm evil, MUHUHUHUHUHAHAHAHA!

Anyway, thanks so much for all the reviews, follows, favourites and love. I love hearing what you little cuties think! ❤️

Enjoy!

* * *

She was older, her face worn. Her hair was longer, greyer, thinner. Her cheeks were stretched where the skin had tightened, one on the account of age and the other on hunger. She was wrapped in layers, her hands covered in leather mittens adorn with fur on the edges. She had a machete in one hand, a handgun safe in it's hilt, a semi automatic machine gun on her back and a knife strapped to her leg.

Her eyes were still the same though. A winter warm blue, light as the sky. They were on his, pupils dialated, whites watery and red, thin lashes of blonde blinking back the shock.

All at once Daryl felt it all, the loneliness, the rage, the fear, the grief, all of it, project out of him. She was there, a punch to the gut in his reality. Feelings he didn't know he held back for so long simmered hot within him, things he didn't let himself feel in the last year or so.

Then, as if a symbol, as if proof that it was true, he saw those eyes furrow. There it was. Every crinkle in her brow an expression of just how much she had missed him too.

He dropped the crossbow half way before he hugged her. It was a cruel embrace, a suffocating one. His arms gripped her frame, bruised her body. It was reciprocated, her grip agonised his back. He whimpered, eyes watery, face screwed and red as he tried to find words, anything to say to her. The sounds, incoherent, came in croaks. His body shuddered as he heard her swallow thick next to him, her own surprise just as difficult to comprehend.

She let go and looked at him. Her eyes were pink, puffy, a sharp contrast from the quivered smile on her face. She had both mitts on his face, just looking at him. He shook his head, sniffed, he had to take short gasps just to breathe, before hugging her just as hard as the last time.

He heard her laughing now. Hoarse, scratchy. He held her a little longer, kissed her cheek and then let go. She held his hand and continued to look at him. Her smile beamed.

He coudn't believe it. He shook his head, kept shaking his head. He just couldn't believe it.

Carol.

Carol was right in front of him.

 _CAROL_.

"I," he still couldn't form words, "You, I, oh fuck."

She laughed, "It's me Pookie."

He hugged her again. He felt her laughs go through her as hands patted his back, each hit an uncomfortable ripple. He didn't care.

He didn't believe in God. As a result, he didn't believe in miracles either. This was the closest he ever thought about changing his stance on the whole thing.

He let go and smiled at Carol. She smiled back. He couldn't believe it.

He turned his head. Brooke was stood there, gun lowered. Large brown eyes looked at the two of them, face a collected mix of appropriate hesitation and anxious uncertainty.

He couldn't blame her, it was a pretty 'what-the-fuck' moment.

Daryl had a hand on Carol's back. He turned to Carol, his face bright.

"This here's Brooke." He said, "She's with me."

Carol nodded, her hand stretched and she took a step forward. Brooke watched them both as she took a step and shook Carol's hand.

"I'm Carol." She greeted.

The youngest of the three let go. She gave Carol a smile, meek one.

"You two know each other?"

Daryl nodded, "Carol and I were in the same group from the beginnin'." He explained, "From Atlanta."

She nodded, before putting her gun away. Carol turned to Daryl.

"God, I can't believe it." She said, "I went back, to the camp. I went back. I thought, when I saw it, the walkers, I thought-"

"Governor came back after ya left." He told her, "Tried to find people, everyone was gone-"

Brooke interrupted, "We can have this conversation in here," she motioned them back behind the roots, "Before Judith realises we've gone."

Carol's eyes lit up. She looked at Daryl, "Judith?"

His face hurt from smiling so hard.

"Yeah."

"Really? She's alive?"

"Can go an' see for ya self."

When they were inside, Carol all but screamed. She watched as the little one slept, tiny chest moving up and down in blissful ignorance. She hugged Daryl again.

"Judith's alive. You're alive."

He nodded, "I'm alive."

"And you're here. You're in Maryland."

"So are you."

She looked back at Judith, "I came here straight after the prison."

"Why?"

"Thought it must be the safest place in the country. You'd think, but it was the same." She looked at him, "There's nothing in D.C."

He frowned, "So ya just stayed?"

"I wondered around." she said, "I found an abandoned summer camp with a few counsellors and kids. Helped them clear it, and in exchange they let me stay."

"Jus' like that?"

"We're talking teenagers and children Daryl. They were terrified. I don't know how they managed so long before I showed up."

He digested the information. Brooke glanced over at him, her mind working just as hard to process everything. Carol was just absorbed with Judith, her shock taking its own time to simmer down.

He cocked a brow, "So what? Ya like their Rick now?"

She turned back to him, rolling her eyes, "Without the melodrama."

"Don' be cruel, Carol."

"I'm sorry Pookie. You're right, I was being petty." She turned to Brooke, grin wide, "Rick was a bit of a drama queen though."

Brooke was polite enough to smile and nod, an attempt at adjusting to the blatant intrusion. She was sat next to Judith. Quiet. Very quiet.

Daryl looked at her, she hid back his concern well. Brooke wouldn't have liked him seeing it, especially now. He could tell she was tense, on guard.

"So why are you guys here?" Carol asked, "Maryland's a long way from Georgia."

Brooke cleared her throat, "We met in Boston."

Carol turned to Daryl, "Boston?."

He shrugged, "Was wonderin'. Just like you."

She nodded, "So why are you here?"

Brooke looked at Daryl. She didn't want to explain. He turned back to Carol.

"Heard there was a place near D.C takin' survivors."

She looked at Brooke again, "Really?"

She nodded, "It's called Alexandria."

"Alexandria." Carol repeated, "I haven't heard of it. We're not too far from D.C, but between you and I that's a good thing."

"Why's that?"

"The people around that area are pretty territorial. Got into a few close calls with some groups." Carol looked at Daryl, "It's hostile, much more than you'd think for times like these."

Daryl frowned, "Why'd ya think that?"

"I think because most people traveled here thinking it would be the safest bet." She said, "My guess is when they realise there's nothing there they settle in places they shouldn't."

"In other people's territory." Brooke clarified.

Carol nodded, "Precisely. Everyone's doing everything to survive." She gave a stretch, "Still. Boston's far and it must've been hard on you. Hard on all of you."

Daryl shrugged, "She's the one that kept us going. Looked after us real good."

Brooke looked down, "We both did."

Carol eyed her with the same criticism she eyed everyone. The woman was observant to a fault, Daryl figured that was why she'd been such a good shot. She knew what to see when she looked at people, she would excavate the things people overlooked or passed as insignificant.

She was doing that to Brooke. Brooke knew it. She didn't like it. Yet Daryl watched her take it, and the longer he watched the more he thought she was taking it for him.

It clicked in his mind then. Brooke was wary of outsiders, prevalent from what little of her past he knew. He dealt with the her when they were strangers, he knew how she acted with them.

Now, despite what she must've felt, she was on her best behaviour.

For him.

She was sat with someone she wanted gone, but she sat all the same because Carol was his friend.

It was a stupid, small gesture. It was the most gracious thing another soul ever did for him.

He turned to Carol, "She saved my life."

Carol looked at him, before turning back to her, "You did?"

Her cheeks rouged. Daryl nodded.

"Was runnin' from walkers. I passed out in the woods an hour close from anywhere. She dragged me, and Judith, and all the supplies 'til we was safe. Kept us fed and warm and watered." He said. He looked at her, "Woulda died if ya hadn' a done that."

Brooke fidgeted with her knife.

"You're making it sound like a big deal."

"It's a pretty big deal," Carol replied. She reached over and grasped Brooke's hand in her mitt, "You saved two people I care about. That, to me anyway, is a very big deal. Thank you."

She looked Carol in the eye. She did not move her hand.

"You're welcome."

"My camp's not too far from here." She said, chirpy, "Come with me."

The statement, though expected from the likes of Carol was still a surprise. They'd been traveling for so long with a goal in mind that it was sudden at how easy she requested it.

Daryl and Brooke looked at each other. He spoke first.

"It safe?"

She nodded, "It was one of those camps for troubled youths. Excessively walled so none of them could escape. Awful place. We blocked off the only two openings with spikes. We're in the process of putting up walled fixtures around them."

Daryl frowned, "Ya in charge o' a juvie half way house?"

She gave him a look, "These kids were the types who wanted anarchy and acted out because they had issues. The world ended, they got their anarchy. Low and behold none of them wanted it, most of them are dead and the rest only have each other. There's about fifteen of us, and well, they're my family Daryl."

He nodded, voice soft, "Didn't mean t' upset ya."

Brooked spoke, she was hesitant but the fire won again, "It sounds like a good place."

Carol smiled, "Thank you. Please let me show you."

Brooke looked at Daryl, "It'd be safer for Judith. Sounds secure."

He nodded. He trusted Carol, "Fine. One sign o' trouble—"

"Daryl Dixon please." She huffed, "Coming from you?"

He smirked, "Still got a mouth on ya."

"I'd guess yours still needs to be washed out with soap." She shook her head, "Do me a favour, don't swear in front of the kids please."

They woke up Judith. Carol doted on her, tears reappeared when she heard the little girl speak for the first time. Daryl tried to teach her Carol's name, but the closest they got was 'car'. Carol did not question when Judith called him 'Daddy'. The feeling he got when Carol acknowledged the title was unparalleled, as if any internal argument he'd had on the fact silenced itself.

Judith called him Daddy.

No one would deny it. Not because it wasn't worth the truth, but because the truth didn't matter.

He was Judith's Daddy, and that was that.

They trekked through the woods, Judith with Daryl, Brooke and Carol ahead. Elder chatted with the younger, Carol kind as she asked Brooke all about herself. He half listened, he knew most of it.

Or he thought he did.

"So why were you in Boston, if school hadn't started?"

He looked at Brooke. Her back was to him, his gaze invisible as she recollected her tale.

"I was a summer helper for my university. When it all started, crazy as it sounds, I thought it was safe. There weren't many attacks reported there so I didn't bother coming home."

"So you stayed."

She nodded, her gloved hands pushing branches out of her way. Daryl wondered about her injuries. Regardless of pain, he gathered she wouldn't care for them at the time.

"Right until the power gave out. That's when I knew stuff was worse than I thought. Me and the other university helpers were in a meeting when it happened and against their judgement I left. Or tried to, I didn't leave right away."

"Why?"

"They said they were trying to quarantine the campus. None of us were allowed to leave. I wasn't going to sit there and do nothing. I needed to get home. So two other helpers and I scaled the fence out. We hitched a ride to Boston, on the way one of us got bit." She looked at Carol, "That's when it became real."

"But why did you stay in Boston?"

Brooke looked at her. She shrugged, "It was hard enough as it was to reach Boston. I didn't have anything to get me home. The guy that I travelled with, his uncle was home on temporary leave and offered me a place to stay until I knew what I was doing."

That was Walt. It regurgitated within him, all the details he'd learnt of her time in the world. He was an army doctor, he recalled being told of a nephew.

He sort of guessed that boy was the one she never spoke about. She never mentioned him. Walt she spoke of on occasion, but not this boy.

"Long story short Boston was evacuated, the city was bombed to bits and the three of us found the Base. We stayed there until it got over run and now I'm here."

Carol didn't need to ask what happened to them, she wasn't oblivious. The older woman listened without interruption, her attentive nature present in the occasional nod. So much could be learnt from a story by the way a person told it.

"You never heard from your parents again?" Carol asked her.

She didn't look at her, "No." She said, "Maybe it's better that way."

"Maybe."

Daryl cut in, "So this camp o' yours? We near?"

Carol turned her head back, "Not much longer. Just past these trees."

It was another ninety seconds when she confirmed the statement. Surrounded by colossal pines and dead sycamores stood a fence, tall and looming. It had a nostalgic feel to Daryl, with barbed wire and iron gates reminded him more of the prison than a children's camp. Carol understated her verdict on the security, *excessive* was a mild description.

The woman walked ahead, not bothering to state her arrival. The gate opened. A young skinny girl, no older than Brooke, waited for her, gun in hand.

The pair of them followed her side by side, the two of them alien in this new unknown. The girl's grip on the gun tightened, her jaw clenched, a response from stopping herself from asking too many questions. She turned over to Carol, explanation requested on her features.

Carol nodded, reminded of the fact, "Can you please bring Mike around Cassie? I need to talk to him."

Cassie's eyes betrayed their gaze and looked at Daryl and Brooke. It was a quick glance, fleeting. She nodded at Carol.

"Me too?"

Carol nodded, "Bring Monica and Justin too."

She nodded again, "Anything else Carol?"

She shook her head, "We're good for now. All clear today?"

"It's been a slow morning."

Daryl was impressed. Carol turned to them both, smiling. She didn't stay still for long, her short legs taking long strides into the camp.

He'd never been to summer camp, he didn't know what they usually looked like. He figured it would be cabins and tents, but this place had a clinical feel. The kind that reminded him of bleach and needles.

There were rows of neat proportioned cabins, rowed and numbered. A flagpole stood outside a large house, white washed walls and terracotta shingles held the structure firm. It was a central sort of building, the kind that he expected to be the epicentre of such a place.

Carol confirmed it soon after.

"That's the main building. It's where everything is kept. Food, guns, medicine. It's were the laundry is done too." Her hands moved and pointed as she spoke, "Over there is the old rec room. Not much use for it now, so we use it to teach the kids in. You'll see them round, everyone's doing jobs now. They've got another couple hours."

"Jobs?"

"Farming, cleaning, scouting, raiding, training, school." She exhausted her mind for examples, "Everything to keep the community going."

Brooke's eyes were wide, "This is impressive."

"Thanks. I think you guys'll like it here."

Daryl glanced at Brooke. She was in awe. Head tilted a fraction as she took it all in, the idea of being someplace habitual making her glow.

They stopped under the flagpole. Star spangled banner was not raised full mast, the flag itself tattered with age. It was the reminder of civilisation lost in a place where it was growing again.

They came fast. One moment the area around them was still, the three of them their own company. Then a few of them, children slowed their paces and stopped their chores to look at them. They were kids like she said, awkward preteen stumble and acne scars littered their faces. Between the sparse fold of children two men and two women came towards them. Only one of them rivalled Daryl's age. The other people looked old enough to at least drink, and one of them was the girl, Cassie.

Fifteen pairs of eyes glued themselves to him, Brooke and Judith. All of them wary. All confused. All trying to look a lot busier than they were.

One of the few who had been summoned to discuss this spoke. It was the youngest one, the boy.

"Carol, who are they?"

Clearly the speaker was not a favourite of Carol's. Because Carol would have favourites. She may have treated everyone in kind, but it was still Carol.

Carol clasped her hands together, her voice soft but firm, "This is Daryl and Brooke." She said, "And this little one is Judith. Daryl's a friend of mine from Georgia. They're here to stay."

Another one spoke. Skin a pale mocha and wearing a tight pony tail, "They're here to stay? Just like that?"

"I trust them with my life Monica."

"That's great Carol, but we don't-"

"It's not up for debate. They're staying."

Cassie talked next, "Well what's the point if we can't make a descion together. You're the one always telling us about that."

"This is different." She sighed, "They're good."

"Yeah, but, how do we know that?"

"He's the man that went looking for Sophia." She said, "That one friend of mine."

Daryl's stomach sunk. The man, the older one, looked him over before giving a quick nod. He put his right hand forward.

"Michael," he greeted, "Welcome to the Camp."

He shook his hand, uncomfortable but doing his damnest not to appear so. It wasn't that his attempt was poor, it was that this stranger knew how to look through it. He then shook Brooke's hand, his gesture an affirmation of Carols demand that they stay.

Carol went on, "Anyone have a problem with this?"

"Would it change anything if any of us did?" Justin asked, "No telling how everyone else will react."

"They'll get used to it." Cassie answered. She gave the pair a nod of approval. An expected one anyway.

"Will they?" The young boy persisted.

Carol gave them all looks. The answer was self explanatory on account of the silence.

"Right, I'm going to show them around. You guys get back to it. It's group today so you can all complain about this then."

A few nods, there was mostly silence. Everyone left except for the one older guy, Michael and Cassie.

They were polite. They gave them both the required amount of attention Carol excpeted. It was strange to watch them interact with her, silent nods and rehearsed statements to covertly grasp her attention without letting anything out on the open for prying ears.

And Daryl's ears were prying. He couldn't help himself.

Most of the day was like that. After the meeting they were taken to the mess hall to eat. It was more food than either of them were used to, Daryl forcing half of it down despite getting full quick. It nauseated him, he was just not used to eating much at all.

They were shown to a cabin after. A whole one just for them.

There was little to appreciate with the decor, any hint of personality died way before they waltzed in. Four wooden walls sheltered four made up single beds, their yellowed sheets aged with neglect. Beneath their feet, a worn-through red rug sat centred in the room, the fabric sporting a couple of questionable stains. There was one window, the sort that needed to be pulled outwards to open, a feat Daryl would not consider if it were not for the smell. On the corner closet to the on suite bathroom, green black mould stretched itself long and thin, the flecks of earthy colour ending on the ceiling above the window.

It was paradise.

It wasn't a cold car or a dead bush. It was four walls. A couple of beds.

A fucking _bathroom_.

It managed to get better when Carol mentioned running water. They emptied out the boilers before the snow hit, but they had enough water spare for two showers. She even offered to heat a large bucket full for them herself.

So that's what they did. He let Brooke shower first, she offered to wash Judith which left him alone. He could hear the child squealed as the tiny splashes of water hit the shower floor. He smiled to himself, this was the first shower Judith ever had.

She and Brooke were probably standing, clothes shed in an abandoned heap on the floor, shower spraying water in weeps of low pressure, suds traversing all over the younger one's body as the older one washed her. He could bet that Brooke was pulling faces as she lathered Judith's hair, using the shampoo to sculpt ridiculous hair styles or fake beards. She'd stand there, shivering no doubt, the shower off as she played with her, wanting to leave so the baby wouldn't get cold, but wanting to stay a little longer to see Judith splash in puddles. To see her truly safe for the first time in both their lives.

The longer he thought about it, the more he felt a sense of fulfilment. Even though the world was over, they were here, and if Daryl died tomorrow they'd remember him. He didn't know if it was mutual, frankly he didn't think it mattered. Some feelings were meant to be owned, not shared.

He had never quiet belonged somewhere quiet like he did with them. Never felt quiet as needed or wanted. It wasn't like anyone just accepted him and gave him a place within their little group. What they had was a natural thing, one that just happened. First with Judith and then with Brooke.

He took in his dead friend's baby, got shot in the woods and ended up with a family. That envy he once had for the rest of the world, with their straight edged parents, and generous grandparents, and siblings who didn't emotionally blackmail you, was paved away. He made his peace. He got his own back.

Was it conventional?

Hell no.

Was it his?

Yes.

He didn't need to prove anything to anyone anymore. He proved it to himself every time he looked at them. It smoothed down the chips he had on his shoulders, because, for the first time in his whole shitty life, he had something he wasn't willing to lose.

When the door opened, all it did was confirm that to him. Judith ran to Daryl, little legs wobbled to where he sat on the bed by the window. She was chatting up a storm, mouth going faster than ever before, saying words like, 'bubbles' and 'splash' over and over. She was in her old clothes, Carol didn't have anything clean for the her in storage. Daryl decided he'd get her some tomorrow, they didn't know how long they'd be here for after all.

If they'd stay here, or rather, if Brooke would.

He put her on his knees, one leg bouncing her up and down, cute giggles erupting from her tiny body. He heard a laugh.

He looked up. Brooke was leaned by the bathroom stall, fresh clean clothes draped her frame as her unfed body made its way to the other bed with her things. She smelt of soap, a clean creamy smell, one he caught with a lazy inhale. Her hair, for the first time since he met her was down, knotted terribly but hardly noticeable, as the overgrown strands clung to her shoulders and the tops of her chest.

He didn't want to stare. He wanted, as unoriginal as it sounded, to tell her she looked beautiful this way. Everything untamed, tight waves of ribbon curls misplaced on her face.

Because she was beautiful. He thought it before this, he just wanted to tell her now. Tell her without it compromising their relationship.

She ran her fingers through the mane and cursed. She looked at him.

"Hey, this is going to sound weird," she started off, "But I'm so fucking pissed off with this thing getting all messed up all the time. Can you do me a favour and cut it?"

The idea horrified him.

"All of it?"

"Yeah, sure whatever. I just want this," she waved a large fistful of matted locks, "Gone. Forever."

He didn't want to cut all of it. He liked her hair.

"Sure ya want it so short?"

"I want it manageable."

"Can cut off the knots."

She made a face, before making a face that almost looked like she regretted the first face.

"I know it shouldn't matter, what it looks like, but, I want it to at least look even."

He cocked a brow, the ghost of a smile almost spilling again.

"Jus' hair. Will grow back."

She rolled her eyes, "Are you going to do it even or not?"

He moved Judith on the bed and patted the spot next to him. She sat, drips of water soaking the back of her new blue sweater.

"Hows the scrapes?"

"Healing." She passed him her knife, "I don't have scissors, can you work with this?"

"I'll cut off the matting first."

"Then?"

"Then ya walk t' the mirror and decide if it ain't even."

She nodded. He started. He collected the knotted dry puffs of hair, bunched it between a palm and passed the knife through without yanking. He titled the blade, the hair cutting at an angle, all of it gone in one precise cut. She was rigid, her back straight and breathing slow, waiting in unwanted anticipation for him to show her the locks himself.

When he did, she just nodded, "Anything to even out right away before I check?"

"Bit. Ya were right to cut it. It's too long."

"I haven't cut it since this began."

He took a few strands between his fingers and evened them out. He felt her tense, the slight sound of an inhale shuddering through her.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's Sophia?"

He almost cut himself. The blade slipped from his grip, the serrated edge missing anything important. It was a fault of his hand, one he caught right after.

His voice low, gruff tones breathed out in caution as he answered her.

"Was Carol's daughter."

She let a beat pass between them, "What happened to her?"

He knew if he stated so, he wouldn't have to tell her. She'd do that nod, hood those lids, and say no more on it. For her boundless curiosity she wasn't pushy with matters of the past.

For that he told her. For the fact that she respected his boundaries he blurred them.

Sophia wasn't like Merle. Wasn't like Rick or Carl or Glenn or Maggie or the others. His quest to find her was a pilgrimise of self, one that morphed more and more personal as more and more days went by without her.

He looked for her because of Carol, because Carol had been a mother and she'd lost a child. He looked for her because, despite the lack of care his own parents gave him, he knew the times he wondered off his own mother worried. Or that's what he told himself when she was alive.

He was silent for longer than he thought appropriate.

"She got lost. Went out lookin' for her nine straight days." he went back to cutting her hair, "I searched everywhere I could, woulda kept searching too."

"Why'd you stop?"

"We found her in a barn. She'd turned."

She pulled her head away. He lowered his hands. She turned to meet his gaze.

Her mahogany irises glistened at his cerulean ones, his blues bluer than his soul. He felt raw, exposed. Felt like she'd skinned him alive, opened him up and was studying his very insides. She had a way of looking at him that made him hurt so bad because her eyes were so tender. Pain, pain so pure and good, he didn't know if he wanted more or less of it.

Then, hesitant, afraid but of what he wasn't sure, she brought her hand on top of his. He felt those precious fingers, fingers that could unravel his soul into shredded spider silk, come between the spaces of his own like a perfect fit. Daryl believed her hands were designed by the maker to fit his hand exactly.

As if that wasn't enough to surrender himself to her she shoved her fear away and came closer. She pressed her clean, fragrant body against his dirty, stale one. She didn't hug him tight, she didn't pull him to a grip to prove she cared about him. She just held him close, held him like he never knew he ever needed to be held before.

She was soft. She was warm. He felt cold hands pat careful on his shoulders.

"I know it's a stupid thing to say," she began, "I know it doesn't matter much and I know it matters even less coming from someone who wasn't there, but, Daryl, what happened wasn't your fault. You did all you could, and sometimes, it's just not enough. That's not on you, that's on the universe."

He nodded. She was right, but it wasn't so much as insightful as it was caring. This was something he had already made peace with. He paid his internal debts to Sophia a long time ago. Still, hearing this eased off a pressure he didn't know he had. It was effort to stop himself getting teary, so he decided to instead tighten his grip on her clothes and ride the emotion out.

She recoiled. He had grabbed by her bruise. She sat up and flinched back, face squinted. She looked at him and smiled weakly.

"Sorry, that wasn't you." She tried to reassure, "I'm still a little sore."

"Sorry," he felt awful then, "Shoulda remembered."

"It's fine Daryl, you didn't hurt me."

He nodded. She looked at him. He looked right back.

Excpet, this time they didn't stop looking. Daryl had a hard look on his face, softened by the parting his mouth made to mimic her own. That was the only time he paused his gaze, to glance at those small chapped lips.

She closed her eyes before breathing out a slow sigh.

"You should shower." She said.

He nodded, clearing his throat and getting up to shower. Water dripped down his back as he let himself relish the moment of undisturbed time. He washed up quick, and once he was sure he was clean, he stroked himself.

He had undisturbed time. Time when he was safe and alone. This time he was slower. This time, he wasn't profane.

Once again she came alive within his fantasies, but instead he worshiped every bump, every curve. He was finding God in the way her hips arched to meet his, tasted the stars when he tasted her parted mouth. Every breathy moan, every strangled whimper was a mantra in his mind. The way her hands, glorious hands, gripped on to him, the way her eyes were semi shut as her brows furrowed in simmering ecstasy, the way he felt complete inside her, was divine.

He wanted to drown in her.

Only her.

No, his orgasm did not leave him sore in satisfaction, he did not convulse in terrible pleasure like the time before. It came like a tide, one that washed over him until it drenched his very bones in soft pleasure. His every nerve was sensitive, his legs wobbled, his body sated.

But even though it felt different, better than before, he felt hollow inside. He would step outside this bathroom and he wouldn't be able to idolise her like he had moments ago, wouldn't be able to tell her how he'd grown to care for her, that both his body and heart desired her, wished to share everything he had with her. He'd never been with a woman he wanted to treat like that before, that he cared enough about to show that softer part of himself.

It wasn't that he didn't wasn't willing to. He didn't know how. He didn't know if she would even want him at all.

She was a star in a sea of darkness, he was the darkness in a sea of stars.


	23. Fishing For Compliments

Hey guys!

So I'm just going to leave this here...

Thanks for for all the love, reviews, follows and favourites! I love hearing what you all have to think! ❤️

* * *

The day was not a favourite on Brooke's books.

She had 'issues' with meeting long lost friends —long lost _girl_ friends— and staying in a place full of strangers. Sure Carol seemed nice, seemed like someone Brooke would've enjoyed being around once upon a time, but now isn't then and right now she was having a hard time calming herself down.

She tried all day to let the panic pass, to ride it out. During the awkward meet-n-greet-slash-these-people-are-fucking-staying-here-so-deal moment by the main building she felt her palms sweat as she counted every head she saw. Carol said there were fifteen of them.

Fifteen people trained in combat.

Fifteen daggers to watch out for behind her back.

Still, she was going to try. She was going to give Daryl the benefit of the doubt and try with them. Carol was kind enough to give them a whole cabin and clothes and a damn hot shower. She didn't have to do that.

Just like Brooke didn't have to be a hostile bitch.

So she wasn't going to be. She was going to be totally okay with being in a walled in space, outnumbered two to fifteen. She was fine with that.

She scrunched up her features, her eyes stung with surprised tension. She didn't want to cry because she didn't want to admit how pathetic she felt. This was beyond her control, way beyond her control. If she wasn't in control that meant anything had a chance to fuck her up and she couldn't have that happen again.

It was dark. She was lying on the creaky bed, Daryl and Judith sleeping on the cot next to her. She was too on edge to sleep, her blood pumping adrenaline in fresh supply.

She looked over at the two of them, soft snores akin to background noise amongst her loud thoughts. The bed was too small for three people, not that she needed to sleep beside them. It wasn't like outside, they were a lot warmer here with the thicker sleepwear and multiple warm blankets.

The very one's that made her feel sick with heat.

It was wrong to use Daryl as a crutch for her little anxiety problem. Not that it was a problem. It was manageable. It had to manageable. If it wasn't manageable then she'd have lost more control, if she lost more control then that was more for fate to play with, and fate was never kind, fate had a good pitching arm for curve balls, fate was the reason she was like this now, the reason why she was losing control, the reason-

She sat up, hand on chest. She had a bullet train heart beat. The air wasn't enough for her hungry lungs.

The dark got that much darker, her vision turning shadows into ghosts that she knew weren't there. No matter how many times she blinked them back the apparitions never left her skewed sight. They just stayed there, closer as the blackness darkened. They were worse than walkers, walkers you could end.

These had to be watched because there was no knowing what they'd do.

In the end she gave in. She knew she couldn't sleep on the bed, but she could just sit next to it. She'd wait the night out and sleep in the morning. She did that everyday for five months, seven weeks of normalised sleep would be easy to forget.

She took a breath for courage and slunk on the floor with blanket in hand. Daryl's back was facing her as she sat by his bed side. She sat there for a long while, an hour at least, her head leaned on the mattress, his breathing a lullaby. She sat silent, mind still, until she stretched a foot that rocked the leg of the bed.

Daryl stirred. Her heart, for all it's persistent pounding, quitened. She didn't want him waking up and seeing her on the floor. One, it was a little weird and totally creepy. Two, he'd ask her if she was okay and she didn't want to burden him with something that wasn't a big deal.

Because it wasn't a big deal.

She got up, blanket wrapped around her. She didn't creak a floorboard, she didn't move too quick, he was simply awake. She knew he was a light sleeper. She thought she had great hearing, but Daryl's was super human.

He turned to her, brows furrowed, sleep thick in his voice.

"Brooke?"

She waved a hand at him, "Go back to sleep Daryl."

"W'at ya doi' up?"

"Nothing, it's fine."

His hand met with her waving one, palm running past her palm and settling on her forearm. His touch was lazy, familiar. She stilled.

"W'at's the matter?"

Had she really gotten that easy to read? No, this was days of close proximity, because nowadays he knew how she acted better than she wanted him too.

Just like how she knew when he was happy or sad.

She swallowed thick, bending down so she was eye level to him. Her arm was on the bed, embraced by his rough hand. His hands were gifted by the Gods, hands that were so rough but touched so soft.

He wasn't awake yet, not really. His movements were bolder from lack of consciousness, the divine hand traversing up and down the skin of her arms in light gestures. It was more than comforting. Every sweep his hand made whispered how much he cared for her.

A mutual sort of care. A care that scared her because of how deep it kept growing.

"I," her voice was quiet, a timid murmur, "I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to disturb you guys."

The moonlight, a slender sheen, reflected against Daryl's baby blues. It gave them a dewy glisten to them, the sort that made his emotions seem all the more real, as if the grey brought out the softer sides of himself. His thumb rubbed a slow circle, the gentle rub just as silent as him.

"Didn' wanna disturb us?"

She nodded, fast, "Yeah."

"Ya sat here long?"

She was quiet for too long. Like any admission of insecurity, she felt her embarrassment drown her attempt to feign composure. It didn't work, concern stretched on his features. It wasn't withheld by his strong fear of judgement, enlightening her with a vulnerable show of emotion. His hand let go of her arm and pushed back a strand of hair away from her face. It lingered there, lingered for longer than she thought he'd let it linger, before he pushed the blanket away from his body and got up from the bed.

She stood up with him.

"Daryl?"

He ignored the urgent hitch in her voice.

"Get in next t' Judith. Whilst it's warm."

"What are you doing?"

He threw her now discarded blanket on the bed and placed his hands on the railings of her bed. He started pushing. She sprung next to him, defiant.

"You're back is still sensitive, let me help you."

"Fine." He was awake now, the gruff back in his voice, "Lift from the end."

They moved the bed next to his, Brooke pushing it to wedge the gap. Before she could thank him, or protest, or saying anything to him at all, he crawled back to the bed and waved her over. She crawled next to him, pillow touching pillow, both blankets covering each other as Judith slept sound.

His head faced hers, one of his arms underneath his pillow. She lay the same way, both hands under her pillow for warmth, or perhaps preservation. She wanted to be closer to him, to be like how they always slept together. It was cruel, being so close like this but with the perceived boundary of personal space. Parts of her itched where she was used to him holding her, burned for his touch more than ever with him so close.

She didn't catch that he was looking at her until she noticed she was staring. His free hand, his fingers that curled around hers so well, so right, lay on his turned abdomen. He reached over, one finger poked her elbow lightly before returning.

"Ya feel better?"

She nodded.

His eyes were trying hard to remain alert. Comfy beds and the illusion of safety helped with easy sleeping.

"W'at upset ya?"

"Why must I be upset?"

"'S you." He said, "Ya don' sleep when ya feel too scared ta."

She felt herself flush, the colour invisible in the black-white darkness. She wasn't surprised, wasn't ashamed. It wasn't like he was being perceptive, it was the truth. He'd been there every night for nearly two months straight.

It just felt strange not to hid that weakness, however petty and silly it was, with such assured acceptance. It was Daryl, Daryl who didn't think he had as much of a right to judge her than God. She could be honest with him, he earned that right from her.

It was easier to say to herself than to actually do though.

"I," she took in a careful breath, "I know it's safe, I know these people wouldn't hurt us, it's just, I don't know. The more I try to convince myself we're okay here, the more reasons I find to worry."

He shifted from his spot on the pillow, adjusting himself. She felt exposed, not all the way, but more than comfortable.

"I mean, I trust your judgement of Carol. I do. I trust it, and I think she's as kind as she makes herself out to be, but I just, I'm sorry," her throat felt tighter, "I just, I keep wondering if this is all too good to be true, or if they'll make us do things, or if it turns out not to be safe for Judith, and I've tried to stop thinking like that, but I just can't Daryl. I want to so bad but I can't. I trust you, but I just, I don't trust them, and I'm scared, and I want to stop thinking about this for just a minute so I can sleep, but I can't sleep if I'm not in control."

It was getting harder to talk becuase the longer she rambled the more she wanted to burst into tears. She hated crying in front of people, she didn't want them thinking she was weak. He'd seen her cry too many times than she was okay with, and knowing he wouldn't see her differently for it didn't make it better.

Daryl mused this all over, his face much more awake again. She saw his head churn every syllable, every letter, of her rather muddled speech. He frowned, the same frown from before.

"What ain't ya in control of?"

"Them." She said, "What they'll do. What they could do to Judith and you."

"And you?"

Of course her. Of course. She couldn't say it, it brought things back to the breaking point. Brought buried memories from the dead like walkers in the snow.

Daryl edged closer to her, "Listen t' me." His forehead almost touched hers, "Ya can' control what other people do t' ya but if any o' that does happen, ya won' be alone t' face it. I'll be there. Judith will be there-"

"But what if-"

"W'at?"

She was opposite those dark orbs of his, the blue now black as space. She swallowed, she was too far gone now, she may as well sound all the way pathetic.

"What if you cut your loses?"

He edged back, brows furrowed deeper.

"W'at? Up and leave ya? Kind o' man you take me for?"

She didn't answer. Her face said it all without giving anything away. He spoke quick after, a little louder.

"Someone do that t' ya?" he asked, "Left ya in trouble t' fend for ya self?"

This was it. She licked her lips. She could tell him now, she could, when else would the opportunity so easily give way to itself?

She could tell him everything. All of it. The awful, awful truth of it all. The full history of her disintegrated view on trust.

The problem was, the minute she did, it would be real. She hadn't told a soul, hadn't on purpose. The minute she let one person know what happened, she'd have to tell them everything that happened, have to hear herself acknowledge those events as fact forever.

She was going to do it. Now, when the courage was still there. She opened her mouth to speak.

He brought a hand to her face.

He pressed a finger against her lips.

She did not move. He glanced at what he'd done, surprised at himself almost. He slid the finger away and chose to bring his palm on her cheek shy, before resting on her arm again. Back to the safer place, back to the place were the boundaries were still clear.

"Ya don' tell nothin' 'less ya want t'." He said, "Always been kind enough not t' ask more o' me when I didn' want to talk 'bout anythin' personal. So whatever it is, whatever happened t' ya, ya tell me when ya ready."

A knot she had in her heart eased free. He was dead serious. He wouldn't hear it unless she wanted too.

If she could go back before the world was like this, she decided then and there she'd find him again. She'd find him and talk cars and hunting and pop music, she'd paint his every feature as a talent, tell him all the things the others should have. That he was a good man, that he deserved more than anyone gave him, herself included. She'd kiss him goodbye saying that even though the world did him wrong, everything about who he was was so damn right.

Forget seeing her parents, forget her friends, old boyfriends, teachers, employers, it would be him. She wanted to be the first person to make Daryl Dixon feel exactly how she felt right now. Accepted, every flaw treated equal to every strength.

It changed a lot to what she was going to say. She knew she wasn't ready to tell him, not because he wouldn't understand, but because she wanted to make peace with it now. Wanted to burry it before setting it free for the world.

She wanted to give him the basics. She wanted to open the doors and let him in.

She brought a hand to rest on his arm too, they're bodies parallel each other. His gaze faltered for a moment at the contact. He recovered quick, she saw him tell himself this was a return of compassion not an affirmation of intimacy. It made her calm and nervous, but it also made her feel warm.

He always did.

"Daryl, I want to tell you," she said, "I want to tell you all of it, I would right now but, it's hard."

"Don' need t'."

"I know, and I just want to say that what happened to me, what happened before, it, it hurt me," she said, "Hurt me a lot inside. I don't think that hurt goes away, I don't think it can. I think it gets bearable, and I'm still getting used to it."

"'S fine Brooke. Done talkin' 'bout it."

"Well I'm not, I just, what I'm trying to say," She took a breath and looked at him through blurred vision, "The last time I trusted someone like I trust you, it hurt."

Some time during this their hands had moved. Her's rested on his waist, his cradled the back of her head. Both absentminded in their gentle caresses and quiet roaming. It was like their hands were making love to whatever parts of them they could, her fingers serenading the defined muscles on his side whilst his massaged the ones on her neck.

"Ya trust me?"

"Yeah." She said, "You?"

He nodded, "I trust ya."

Her lips tugged, "I don't know why I do, but then again, I don't know why I shouldn't."

He rolled his eyes, the pupils did a three-sixty before settling back to hers. The stayed there, hooded and half opened, mouth parted a fraction.

"Daryl?"

"Ya?"

"Can I," she took a breath for courage, "May I please kiss you?"

Their bodies were going that way anyway. She wanted to kiss this man more than anything in the world. Her need to taste his mouth was more than her lungs needed to taste oxygen. Still, she had to ask him, she had to make sure he was okay with her changing the boundaries.

There were reasons for the clarity. Personal, deeply rooted reasons. Reason she would explain one day, but for now it just wasn't as important as asking.

He didn't answer. He seemed calm, but his eyes gave him away. He leaned in, but she tilted away quick enough, eyes urgent.

He looked at her, rejection camped on his face. She was quick to recover.

"Sorry, I just, can I kiss you?"

He wanted to let his snark come out, not that she would've minded. It was his defence mechanism and, to be fair to him, she was being a little weird about it. He stopped himself though, stopped and thought and then his demeanour changed. His face grew gentle, his eyes clear. He didn't understand why it was important, but he understood it was important for her.

She guessed that some part of him understood that it was important for him too, important because of his own past.

"Yes Brooke." He said. She sighed, weight lifted, anxiety swallowed. He stroked her cheek, tender eyes knitted together.

"Can I kiss ya?" He asked, "Please can I kiss ya?"

It sounded like begging, sounded like her lips were the only things he wanted in this world. Like he'd break if she said no, like he just realised she had that kind of hold on him.

She didn't want anyone to feel so desperate for her like this. Not him. Especially him. He didn't deserve to beg for love, he deserved to be showered in it.

She pressed her lips onto him. Soft, slow. There was no movement by them both as it happened. It was just a joining of people, symbolic of their feelings.

Together. Right now, they were together.

Then they pulled back. Her eyes on him, she wrapped her arms around him as he rolled his chest on top of hers. It didn't matter who started the next kiss, it wasn't important who kissed who and who kissed back.

They were kissing each other.

That's what mattered.

It was desperate but it wasn't hurried. It was like he was talking to her with his body, his tongue telling her things his voice couldn't. Things spoken through hungry, long, soft kisses. It wasn't just his lips, he spoke with his hands, palms on her face as his fingers told her she was precious, his sighs letting her in on just how alive she made him feel. When he came up to breathe, before joining his mouth on hers again, he looked at her with this purity, this assured admiration, that she almost let herself believe that he saw that every time he looked at her.

So she spoke right back. She moaned quiet in his ear about how beautiful he was. She was so engrossed she didn't know if actually she said the word. Neither did she care. He was beautiful, he was beautiful and the world had let him think he was anything but. So she kissed him for every moment he deserved to be adored like this, trailed her hands on his back and up his shirt to rub against the scars.

After a while, they stopped. Her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. Both looked up, neither asleep. They stayed like that, Daryl stroking her side in whispy half motions whilst her own hands were spread eagle on his chest.

"Brooke?"

"Daryl?"

He didn't turn his head, "Checkin' if ya still up."

She smiled against him, "I'm still up."

His chest moved slow and his shirt, a clean navy flannel one that made his eyes brighter, was part way lifted. The skin lay undisturbed, the blanket a few milimeters away from the patch of moonlit flesh and hair. She wanted to touch it, the sparse peaks of trailed pubic hair littered up to his navel.

She didn't. For both of them. For different reasons.

"We still the same, right?"

She nodded, he was tense. The question voiced anxiety, not clarity. She kissed the fabric of his shirt.

"Still me." She pressed another kiss, higher now. She didn't know where the bravery came from. She didn't care.

He lowered her head, the angle awkward as he caught her lips into another slow, languid kiss.

"Still me too."

She kissed him again. She kissed him the way the sun kissed light across the sky. He pressed harder, muted passion exerted through the puckered pink flesh of his mouth, teeth finding themselves between swollen blood rushed lips.

He spoke between kisses. Nervous, a fumble of words and movements. A need to speak behind his firm emotional walls but an inability to suppress his instinctual apprehension.

"Not very good at this," another kiss, "Me I mean." Kiss, kiss, kiss, "Can stop if ya don' like it."

She broke away again, eyes on his. He was pressed on the pillow, face squished looking up at her.

She frowned, worried that this wasn't what he wanted at all.

"Do you not like it?"

She was soft with him, she wanted to understand.

He shook his head fast. If she didn't know any better, and if the lights were on, she'd guess he was blushing.

It was cute.

"Worried ya not enjoyin' it as much."

She smiled at him, "I am. Every second of it."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Very much." She said, "I've wanted to do this for a while now."

His eyes went wide.

"Ya did?"

She put a hand on her mouth to stop her from laughing, "I did. I like you a lot Daryl. You're important to me." She said, "You and Judith are all I have."

"Not just sayin' it 'cause it's convinent?"

"Of course not. I'm not," she paused, "I don't think I can ever be that kind of person."

He looked like a child. Brows knitted in surprise as his face looked innocent, uncertain. She pushed back his long hair from his eyes and kissed his forehead.

"Brooke I," he didn't know how to phrase what wanted to say, "Never been with anyone for long enough t' matter. 'M not, I, fuck." He said, "'M not good at makin' other people feel good. 'M no expert. I don' know w'at ya want t' feel good, or t' have. Got no clue 'bout that sorta shit. Got no clue 'bout none of that shit."

He was strong enough to look at her through that. He delivered it in shame, the statement. As if he expected her to shun him for it, for his lack of emotional experience with other people. Since when was she some fucking expert in relationships.

Or, better yet, _feelings_.

She felt warm inside. He'd done that to her. How she wished he could see that like she saw it.

She kissed him again. She was addicted to it, to how honest his kisses were. It wasn't anything else but Daryl, it was real. It was him at his most unrefined, his every faction of himself explained and still achingly undiscovered.

"I don't want you being whatever you think I want, or what you think you should be for me, or any of that." She said, "I just want you to be you with me. Just you. You do a great job of that already, and it'd be tragic if that changed."

He smirked, "Ya recon so huh?"

She grinned.

"Don't go fishing for compliments Daryl. God, what are you, 12?"

"Ain't ya been raised to respect ya elders and that?"

"Aren't you supposed to run by example?"

"Don' go an' get all shitty on me 'cos ya a hypocrite."

"Am not."

"Hell ya are."

"Well fuck you, Daryl." She said, "How's that for respect?"

His eyes smiled, his smirk tugged straight against his usual crooked smile. Brooke didn't know how long they stayed awake. She didn't even know who fell asleep first.


	24. Two Thirds Our Age

Hey guys!

so people were very happy with the Brookyl goodness last chapter. You're welcome;)

Thanks for all the reviews, follows, favourites and love! I love hearing what you guys think! ❤️

* * *

There was a knock on the door.

Daryl's eyes peeled opened, mind half aware. Next to him, face buried by his neck, hands on his chest lay Brooke. She stirred, shut lids tensing a fraction as the noise stole sleep away from them.

Another knock.

She shuffled out of bed. Daryl pulled her back down, his grip gentle before shimmying off instead. He dragged his warm limbs to the door, one hand rubbing sleep from his eyes another running through his clean hair.

"Oh good," It was Carol, "you're up."

She was chipper.

He was groggy.

"Yeah, thanks." He mumbled, "W'atcha want?"

"We've got a cabin we've turned into a small barn, thought you'd like to help me clean it up."

"'S barely sun up."

"It's an hour past Daryl." she gave him a coy smile, "That's like a lie in for you."

He just looked at her. It humoured and irked him, the fact she remembered his religious early risings. Her eyes shot back with a playful gleam.

"Be outside in a second."

She nodded, "If Brooke or Judith are awake they're welcome to come."

It was added as a curtesy, yet one to ignore. He understood she was being kind, she just wanted to catch up one on one. He gave a nod, shut the door and walked back over to the bed.

Brooke lay where Daryl had slept, her arms now curled around Judith. He sat on the small cot, hand hesitant but curious as it slide along the blanket and nudged her arm. Her chest rose as sleep left her again.

She turned, hair spread on the pillow, eyes hooded.

"Hey."

Even unshelled she was beautiful. There was a softness to her eyes that was one part sleep and another part affection.

He debated whether to leave her. A catch up with a long lost friend didn't seem a desirable act compared to just looking at the woman next to him.

"Hey."

She wasn't smiling exactly. She wasn't quiet awake for that. Instead her lips tugged in a meek half smile, one that though not complete was just as warm.

He figured his heart was made of ice before. It explained why he melted whenever she did that.

"'M goin' out with Carol. Be at the barn if ya need me."

She opened her eyes all the way, nodding, "Okay."

He got up and grabbed his knife, showing it to her. He knew she would be fine, but he wanted to give her more peace of mind. She deserved any he could give her.

"Know ya more than capable, but jus' in case," he stuffed it between the mattress and bed frame, "I stuck it underneath."

She looked at him, face serene. Happy almost. He stood awkward by the bed, his recollections of last night haunting him. He never made out with a girl he liked until the early hours of the morning before, he didn't know how things went after.

She sat up, crawled a few steps until she was at the edge of the bed, and straighten. He had an urge to touch her again. To touch her like he had last night, touch her to remind him self that it was real. She was real.

She liked him, she said.

A lot, she clarified.

She brought a hand on his slow, fingers slipping between the lonely digits. Lips hot with sleep pressed on his cheek, dry and chapped. His other hand held her face before his brain had the chance to chicken out.

His voice was low, a little lower than usual. She looked up at him, her purple bags heavy on her pasty skin. From this angle she had eyes he could drown in.

"Need anythin', ya find me."

She nodded, "Go have fun with Carol. I'll come out in an hour or so."

He gave into impulse and kissed her light on the lips. It lingered, the aroma morning breath mixed with sweet taste of her mouth was not a pleasant thing to experience, but he didn't care. They broke apart and she crawled back to bed, Judith in her arms.

He stood there for a second longer, her lips still fresh on his own. There was something in the way she was with him, in the way she held him, kissed him, spoke to him, that felt binding. It was like she was promising more for him, like she was telling him through their brief pressing of mouths that this will not be the one of few times they were together in this way. She kissed him like it was natural, like it was as normal as breathing and like it was something she knew she'd do again.

One last kiss, he was addicted. One more because it wasn't enough. Then he forced himself away from her, her swollen lips and big brown eyes promising him a luscious reprieve when they next saw each other.

He had to make sure he wasn't blissing out when he saw Carol. He didn't know if it was possible, but if any indication of what happened still remained stitched on his face Carol didn't press him with any knowing looks. They walked in amiable silence, neither talking until they reach the barn.

The place was identical to the one he slept in, except the beds were gone and the floor was covered in dry grass and hay. They'd divided the room into three unequal sections, each fenced to about Daryl's waist. They had a cow, a fucking _cow_ , skinny and mooing in the the largest of the makeshift pens. The second largest held five chickens and a rooster. The rest of the space held buckets, shovels and homemade feed.

He turned to Carol.

"Hell woman, spent a month at Hershal's farm ain't never seen you so much as touch anythin' that weren' dead."

She laughed. She grabbed a shovel and passed it to Daryl before grabbing her own.

"I didn't think I'd enjoy it back then." She admitted. She jumped the cow's fence, "The group saw Google in a pasture in August, we agreed to take her in for the milk. I didn't think I'd be good with livestock. Proved myself wrong."

He jumped in with her, "Google?"

"We voted on the name. It was either that or Pork Chop."

That cracked a smile on the man's face. Carol laughed, shovel moving cow shit into a bucket in the pen. He did the same.

"Shoulda called it Pork Chop."

"She had a calf, we were going to call it that, but it didn't last long."

"Walkers?" He asked.

"No us," she said, "Thing lasted us a good couple of days."

He nodded, stomach reveling at the idea of spit roasted veal.

"W'atcha name the hens?"

"The kids named them after the cast of Friends."

He shook his head, "Damn kids."

"Damn kids."

They didn't talk for a while. Daryl had to admit the light labour was nice. He enjoyed animals too, always did. He wanted a dog for as long as he could remember, but his Dad wasn't a pet person.

Or a people person.

He talked first, "Was gettin' ready t' find ya."

She frowned, shovelling more shit into the bucket, "You were?"

"Before the Gov'nor attacked." He said, "Was goin' t' take ya home and make 'em take ya back."

She nodded, fetures soft, "What would you have done Daryl? Threaten to leave?"

He looked around for anything he missed, "Know ya didn' kill Karen an Daniel jus' cause."

"David." She amended, "Karen and David."

"Whatever." He said, "Ya wanna lay in some more hay?"

She nodded, "You pass. I'll scatter."

He did as instructed, she spread the straw along the floor.

"I did what I had to do back in the prison."

He nodded, "I know."

"You're not going to ask me why I did it?"

"'S like ya said." He closed up the bag of hay, "Did w'atcha had to."

She smiled. She patted the heifer on the back and checked her feed before turning her attention back to him again.

"How good are you with chickens?"

He rolled his eyes and looped his legs over the other pen. The birds squawked, feathers floating by Daryl's feet.

"Lot more shit here." he breathed out a strong wiff of the smell, "Fuck, it stinks."

She looked at him, "Forgot how much you whine, Pookie."

He huffed, shovel meeting feaces with grace. He slid the stuff into the bucket.

"Careful, stood on an egg the other day. A bad one too, Michael couldn't stand the smell."

"He one o' your minions."

"You make me sound like a dictator."

"Always one in a group," he said, "Even if ya a John Wayne wannabe with a kickass casserole recipe."

"Michael says that. Or sort of. He calls me a sharp shooting matriarch. He does the hand gestures when he calls me that too, it's really funny. "

He cocked a brow. She blushed. He stood, face smirking.

"Ya screwin' the councilor, ain't cha?"

"He's not a councilor." She tilted her head in thought, "Well, actually he is, but not like Cassie or Monika. He's a child psycologist."

"Oh. So ya screwin' a shrink."

She frowned at him, "Must you say it like that. It makes it sound dirty."

He shrugged, his face giving her a knowing look. It was smug and evil.

"What?"

"Nothin'." He said getting back to work, "Just ya screwin' the shrink is all."

"Oh please," her eyes rolled her eyes, "Like you can talk, you're screwing the student."

He felt the back of his neck go hot. He turned.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Please Daryl, it's obvious."

He turned defensive, "How d'ya mean?"

She walked past him and picked a couple of eggs from a corned full of nests.

"It just is. You wouldn't be able to see it but everyone else probably would. It's always that way with this sort of thing." She walked over to a basket next to the pen and put the eggs in there, "I like her."

He didn't talk right away, "I'm not," he sighed, "We ain't done any o' that."

"So it's new."

Barely born.

He nodded, "She ain't like anyone I've been with. She's different."

He felt Carol's hand on his back, "Does she treat you well."

He looked at her, "'S the problem. Treats me like I'm fuckin' special or some shit. Like, she goes out o' her to make me feel like that without me workin' it out. Think she think's I'll feel played or somethin'."

"That sounds really sweet actually."

He shrugged, "Hay here too?"

She shook her head, "No, they're fine."

She reached over the fence and pulled another bucket, one with feed. She scooped a bit and scattered it around. Daryl watched her.

"Something bad happened to her didn't it?"

Daryl stopped watching the hens. A pair pecked at each other for a specific grain of grub that was eaten by the rooster instead.

"Brooke?"

"Yeah."

He shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, "'Bout as much as any o' us. People handle pain differn'."

She shook her head, "That just tells me you don't know yourself."

"Or I don' wanna discuss it with ya."

"Or you don't want to discuss it with me." She leaned on the fence, "Sorry. It was my backhanded way of saying that if she needs someone to talk to, if she just wants another perspective, I'm here."

"Sound like ya really wan' her likin' you."

She nodded, "Course. She's important to you. She's a little young," her brows rose teasingly, "But I'm not going to judge you too harshly on that Pookie."

He scoffed, "Swear ya man's younger than me, ain't no one to talk Carol."

She laughed, "God, I know. I feel like a cougar."

"Got you in charge o' delinquent kids as well. Damn lucky ain't no child protection no more, ya cradle snatcher."

She hit him lightly, "Daryl, you're awful."

He huffed. She smiled. They both watched the chickens for a while.

He spoke next, "Whatever happened t' her wasn' good." He said, "Fucked her up. Shoulda been there when I first met her. She's better, but 's a process an' all."

She nodded, "So you don't know?"

"No." He said, "Think she wants t' tell me. She can't yet, she ain't ready for that."

Carol leaned her head on Daryl's shoulder. It was familiar, as if his body was immune to feeling anything intimate with her. He didn't shake her away.

"Have you told her about yourself?"

"'Bout my Pa an' Merle?" Carol nodded. He repeated the motion, "She know's bits, most 'bout Merle. Told her stories, think she's got her own opinions but she don' wanna bring 'em up. She's careful like that, she don' like pushin' people for their personal shit too far."

"She's private then, like you."

"Ya private too Petelier."

"It's Addams."

He gave her a look. She nodded, "Michael and I have been together a long time Daryl."

"Got hitched just like that?"

"In this day and age, sooner is better than later." She said, "Besides, I love him and he loves me. He's nothing like Ed, Daryl. He's kind, and smart, and he just adores the kids. All of them. He's the sort who can see the light in anyone."

"Damn Carol, ya married."

"I'm married."

"Married to Michael-the-barely-legal-camp-shrink."

"Three and a half months now." She clarified.

He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed, "'M happy for ya Carol Addams."

"I'm happy for me too." she got out of his grip and jumped over the pen, "You know, if she's gotten better since you've met her, you've probably had something to do with it."

"Brooke?"

"Yeah." She said. He got out of the pen.

"Don' think it's like a reward thing? Her an' me?" He said, "I make her feel better so she gets involved with me?"

She frowned, "I can't answer that, I'm not either of you. What do you think?"

That she wouldn't do that. She's too afraid of other people's judgment to consider it. Plus, it just wasn't her.

He shook his head, "Think we both faulty parts from the same assembly line." he answered, "Wouldn' do that to her, doubt she'd try that on me."

Carol opened the barn, they stepped out.

"That's your answer then."

He nodded. They walked back. She observed the day.

"You two have each other." She said as she crunched through the snow, "You know how many people don't even have that?"

"Coun'less." He answered.

"Yeah. It's stupid to love people now." She told him, "The irony is that love's the only thing we've got to keep us going."

He thought about it. She was right. The care, the internal primal responsibility he had for his 'family', was both something he didn't know he'd be able to handle, and something he never wanted taken away.

"She called me beautiful."

Carol looked at him, bemused.

"Oh? Not handsome?"

"No." He shook his head, "Beutiful."

She mused it over, "It's not a word I'd describe you with." She admitted, "Though, honestly, it sounds she was telling you the truth."

"Please."

"You are, you know. I know men aren't supposed to be called stupid things like that, but you are."

It sounded better from Brooke. Sounded special from her. Like he was the only thing in this whole planet she could claim as beautiful.

Carol brushed his shoulder playfully. He looked at her and frowned. She grinned.

"What?"

"Nothing, just," she shrugged, "Of all the places and things we could be doing right now, you and I are alive, safe and smitten with people two thirds our age. With families of all things too. Who'd have known?"

He smiled despite himself. A large full smile.

"Life's funny like that Carol." he said, "Best t' enjoy it without askin' too many questions."


	25. Buried By Those Obliged To

Hey guys!

So this story is near it's end. It's weird how attached you get to stories, you know. I'm legit upset it's almost over.

Thanks for all the love, reviews, follows and favourites. You guys are all just wonderful! ❤️

* * *

She eased into life at the Camp better than she thought.

The day after they arrived, Carol specified how important it was that they contributed to the community. Everyone had a job to do, they would rotate daily so no one was stuck doing the same job too long and it was all fair. Jobs started at different times so you had flexible hours to yourself, time she spent, oddly enough, with them.

There were jobs within the jobs, sub sections of specific areas of work. On a day Brooke helped with the farming, she might be asked to clear the barn, or harvest the winter vegtables, or weed out the dead foliage. If she were on maintenance that day, she could be assigned to fixing things around camp, cleaning the main building or taking stock of supplies. She had launder clothes one day, cooked food another day, patrolled the gates the day after and on and on it went.

It sounded like a lot of work, but it was a lot of free time. On days she had evening shifts of work she went on morning raids. She was getting a reputation on the many she went on. Daryl had done more, but the man kept to himself so not many people noticed when he'd gone.

They noticed when she left.

Some even said they liked working with her on things.

She had been polite, exhibited an almost standoffish sort of shyness, but it had been overlooked by the many prepubescents nattering around the Camp. Cassie had invited her to play scrabble with a couple of the other girls on the fifth night they were there. Keegan, the ginger, leant her a book the day that they spoke about when folding clothes one time. Even Michael, Carol's aledged beau, gave her a portable cd player he found on a run because he heard her mention how much Judith liked music.

Then there was the leader herself. She spoiled Brooke. She spoke to her often, even inviting her for dinner at her cabin a few times. Not her and Daryl, just Brooke. At the end of the first week there, she had asked Brooke over for cheeky wine session which she couldn't deny as fun.

She only had a couple of glasses, it was a couple of glasses too many after a sober few years running around killing walkers. That night Daryl picked her up from Carol's, face smug, manner chivalrous, as Brooke made bold passes at him that she regretted the morning after.

Along with the hangover.

The 'two-glasses-of-Merlot' stupid excuse of a hangover.

They'd been there a month now. Her, him, Judith. The extra beds were gone, replaced with a premium leather sofa they found in an expensive bespoke furniture shop. In the side opposite the beds lay a crate they turned into a semi bookshelf storage unit, and a crappy brown coffee table that held their dusty cd player. In the corner near the door was an ever growing collection of child paraphernalia: illustrated books, colourful toys, a makeshift change station Daryl made from an old cabinet and a height sticker with a purple bear that Brooke stuck on with old chewing gum. By the bathroom their clothes were stacked tight in a drawer they all shared, a drawer that was found in the side of a nearby road of all places.

It wasn't much, but it was theirs. It would freak her out from time to time, how homely rather than housely it was. She knew Daryl felt like that too, probably for different reasons, personal reasons.

Still, even he seemed to add to the permanent feel of the place. There would be little things he would do, unimportant details. They were the sorts of things that didn't matter at all, but she couldn't help but enjoy them anyway.

She liked walking in on him and Judith reading on the sofa. Liked how if she fell asleep before he arrived, he'd wrap a blanket around her and put her to bed. How he pretended to be asleep when she kissed him good morning, or how he danced with Judith when he thought she wasn't watching. Then how he kept dancing when he knew she was. Small things liked how his face lit up when they talked about cars, or when he came back from runs and bring her and Judith CDs to sing along to.

Liked how, right now, face red with winter cold as he shovelled a fresh patch of January snow, three kids around her brother's age hung onto his every word as he talked to them about hunting and tracking. She watched as they asked the man question after question about mud patterns and how to use a crossbow versus how to use a gun, all of them eager to learn from the person they viewed as the fucking Yoda of the post-apocalypse. She stood next to him, smiling at how little Daryl gave the kids and how much they wanted him to tell them more.

The man was not a conversationalist. That didn't faze the three of them. He'd deny it, but he was good with kids, he knew how to talk to them, treat them, without it coming off as the least bit condescending.

'Normal' kids adored that. Special angsty children with supposed behavioural problems more so. Daryl was like a poster boy of everything they respected from an adult. He was someone your mother wouldn't want you playing with and he treated you like everyone else.

Best of all, he was cool as _fuck._

He spied her from behind, his body turned as one of them pestered on. She smiled.

"Hey guys, what you up to?"

"Hey Brooke."

It was Lewis, the one that came here with his older brother, and later smashed his brother's undead cranium with a crowbar. The other two were Yvonne and Dylan. Yvonne was the eldest of the three, frizzy curls, even wilder than Brooke's, protected her head from the cold, whilst Dylan was the one with the lazy eye who's parents were both in prison before this.

"What you all doing?"

"Daryl's telling us about hunting."

He turned to her and nodded. She passed him a small cup of tea she made him a couple of minutes ago. He took it, a small thank you mumbled, and sipped.

She knew he hated tea, he'd said so the first time she made him some. Still coffee was in short supply, and she always brought him some when he worked outside because she didn't want him to catch a cold. She also knew he drank it anyway because she made it for him. It made her happy, him doing that.

Lewis kept talking, "It's so cool Brooke. You can use shit to find out what animal's been where!"

"Sounds great."

"It's so cool!"

She looked at Daryl, smiling. He was halfway through with rolling his eyes.

Dylan spoke next, "Imagine thinking you're tracking down a deer or something and you end up catching a mountain lion because you got it wrong?"

"There's no mountain lions here." Yvonne countered.

"You so damn sure? Betcha there are, right Daryl?"

Three heads turned to him. He stood up, face a little blank and shrugged.

"Don' know. Maybe. Used to be all over these parts before."

Dylan gave Yvonne a triumphed look, "See."

"See what?" Brooke asked, "That just makes it sound like you're both wrong."

Daryl smirked at the response. The kids shuffled around, unimpressed by the answer. The older man intervened.

"Don'cha got jobs t' do? Feel like the only one bustin' their ass here."

They nodded, sheepish. Yvonne spoke next.

"Hey Daryl, do you think you could show us for real?"

He looked at the girl, "T' hunt?" He thought about it a moment, "When the snow's gone."

Brooke wasn't expecting him to agree. Neither were they. They all made their individual shows of gratitue, walking off talking amongst themselves about how they were going to go hunting with the master when spring came. Daryl sipped at his tea.

"You're really going to take them hunting?"

He nodded, "Come spring."

"Really?"

"Be good for 'em t' learn. More people knowin' how t' hunt the better."

He was right. She shuffled in her spot, trying to get herself warm. He frowned at her.

"The hell ya doin' without a jacket?"

"I just came out to hand you something to drink. Will come inside in a bit."

He handed the cup to her and shed the snow jacket he caved and stole on a raid two weeks back. He passed it to her. She gave him a look.

"Great now you'll freeze."

He shrugged, "Got layers, handled worse." He took back the cup, "Just put the damn thing on. Won' kill ya."

She rolled her eyes and wore it. It smelt of him, the scent comforting. He dropped the shovel by his feet and cradled the cup in his palms, slow steam danced against the cold air.

"I want to learn how to hunt too one day."

He sipped at his cup, eyes settling on hers.

"Can take ya now."

"Now?" Her eyes widened, "You told them you'd teach them at the Spring."

"Ya different. Don' need t' worry if a walker comes outta no where and starts somethin'." He said, "Them kids are tough, but they still learnin'. 'S safer without the snow."

Her gaze on him warmed. He fidgeted, he always did when she looked at him like that. She smiled at him.

"You're really good with kids Daryl."

He didn't say anything, looked at his feet and brushed the comment off.

"Treat 'em like anyone, 's all they want."

She shook her head, "You make them feel special."

"Ya look to into shit like that."

"You don't like seeing it."

He rolled his eyes, "'S just a thing. They jus' wanna feel respected and all, 'specially these kids. Think they're not 'cos they ended up here before the shit hit the fan." He took a sip, "Jus' show 'em that ain' and they figure out they ain't crap, 's better than tellin' 'em 'cos they won't believe it."

"Like saying you're really good with kids instead of just proving it to you?"

His gaze hardened a fraction, "Ain't perfect ya self, do the same thing to." He sipped his tea, "'S why I don' bother tellin' ya shit like how pretty ya are, or how good ya are with people, or how everybody just likes ya, 'cos ya won't listen t' it any way."

She beamed at him, "You think I'm pretty?"

His eyebrows raise, "That all ya got from that?"

She blushed, her cheeks a stunning pink. She sunk into his coat a bit and kicked the snow.

"I get your point." She said, "I know you don't want to hear it but you are really good with them. You look like you're in your element when you're with those kids, your face lights up and everything. It's nice to watch."

He looked at the water of his cup, the brown liquid losing heat fast in the cold. He looked defeated, but without the anger that presided the loss of an argument. His body was stood awkward, his features both touched and embarrassed.

He took another sip, a large gulp.

"Ya done for today?"

"Yeah, was on guard duty. Might check the truck later on, think it's leaking oil."

He nodded, handing her the now empty cup, "Almost done here."

He turned his back and picked up the shovel. Brooke started shucking the jacket before stopping when he shook his head.

"Won' be much longer." He said, "If ya want can spend the rest o' the day out? Teach ya how to track an' hunt."

Her chest swelled. His head was titled a little as he continued shovelling.

"Really?"

"Don' mind."

"I'd like that."

She smiled at him. He was trying hard at remaining casual. This wasn't just one person teaching another person the basics, she knew that. This was Daryl taking time to show her what he was good at, to spend time with her as he imparted his own knowledge to her.

She put the cup on the snow, pulled off the jacket and handed it to him.

"I'll be in the cabin when you're done." She said, "Want me to sort anything out?"

"Keep it."

"Just put the damn thing on Daryl."

He shook his head, putting the jacket on, "Won' be long. Promise." he said, "Don' need to get anythin' ready."

She took his hand in his and gave it a small squeeze. Niether were big on public displays of affection, Brooke felt it was something one did when you felt totally safe. She knew Daryl's reasonings were different. He was still unaccustomed to that level of intimacy.

It was a brief affair, she didn't want to make him feel anymore awkward. She let go and began to make her way. A couple steps through the snow and he called her.

"Brooke?"

She turned, a brow raised. He stood tall, shovel in hand, blue eyes on hers with an unapologetic sort of fire.

"You're fucking gorgeous."

The back of her neck prickled with heat, her face rouged again. Her lips spread wide, her cheeks rising. He looked back at her like it was an insult he just threw her way, as if he was just waiting for her to throw one right back, or maybe take a swing at him or throw a snowball or something potentially violent.

Instead she turned around and let herself relish in the compliment, let herself believe it for a change.

She did not look back once.

Judith was right were she left her when she came back. She was napping, Brooke had lulled her asleep before checking on Daryl. She sat on the sofa and readied her gun and knife as she waited for the man that she grown quiet fond of.

Very fond of.

Fond wasn't even the right word for describing it. It was just easier than thinking about the right sort of words. That led to other problems she didn't want to face. Whatever sort of thing the pair of them had was pretty good, she didn't want to ruin it just yet with something like that.

They never discussed what they were to each other now. She didn't think they needed to. The second you lableled it, it had immediate expectations to meet. So she liked the relaxed nature of their whatever it was.

Truth be told, she didn't like the idea of calling him her boyfriend. It made what they had sound juvenile, ordinary almost. Plus, she couldn't imagine Daryl eager to introduce himself as her boyfriend either. He'd rather kiss a dead walker than suffer anything of that nature.

Besides, boyfriends and girlfriends didn't sound serious in this world anymore. She was serious with her feelings towards him. Serious enough that she even thought he was the only one she was serious for. Not once had he treated her different from when they first blurred the boundaries of their relationship, and yet she felt more and more compassion for him every day. A mutual sort that she knew fed off of each other.

He arrived a half hour later with Carol. She kindly offered to look after Judith until they returned, which would be until sunset latest. They grabbed everything they needed, wrapped up warm and headed out to the forest.

Crossbow in hand, jacket zipped to as far as it allowed, Brooke watched Daryl stalk between the trees. They were not too deep in the woods, not too close to the main road. There, between the trees, they walked in a comfortable limbo.

He wasn't worried about the weather. Wasn't worried about Judith or shelter or food or her. He was calm, relaxed as he flowed ahead. She imagined this must've been what he was like before, the he was always this serene doing something he enjoyed.

She trailed behind him as he spoke to her, taught her. This track was fresh for this reason, this wasn't, this was a deer track, that was a person, —walker most like. They knelt in the snow, weapons in hand as Daryl explained how he knew so much about what they were hunting, a large buck as it happened, and how he knew.

"Imprint's deeper," he explained, "Longer too. Bucks weigh more than does and they're bigger, so the hoof has t' accommodate." He pointed to a couple of holes in the snow, "Sniffin' for does. Them marks were from pushin' his nose deep t' catch a scent, the ones there are his antlers."

She was in awe, "You got all that from a footprint."

He smirked, "Don' got feet girl," he corrected, "Got hooves."

She rolled her eyes and stood up. He did the same.

"You know what I meant." She said. She walked forward spotting the trail that was covered in thin sheets of fresh snow from a couple hours before. "How can you tell how long the track's been there?"

"Ya tell me, what d'ya think?"

She looked at it, "Well the snow's covered a bit of it."

"So?"

"So," she said kneeling again, "It's past a couple of hours old since the snow's still fresh but it's not old enough to be covered by it."

"Was made today."

She looked at it, "Other than that I don't really know. It just looks fresh."

He stood next to her, "See the tip, still sharp, if it was rounded woulda been a lot older, day or so at least with the weather an' all. Mean's it's pretty fresh, how's the soil?"

She took off her glove, knelt and ghosted her fingers on it, "Wet, but wouldn't the ground be wet anyway?"

"Feel around." He told her, "Feel the same?"

She shook her head, "Feels dryer."

"Then it's no more than a couple o' hours old."

She got up and smiled at him, "So let's follow them."

She began following the other tracks. Daryl cleared his throat. She turned.

"What?"

"Ya goin' the opposite direction."

"Oh." She turned a little flustered. She could feel him grin all smug. He went ahead, eyes following the tracks. She couldn't help but enjoy him at work.

"Careful, you look like your having too much fun."

He looked at her, brow raised, "Man can' enjoy himself?"

She stood next to him and gave him a nudge, "Just teasing." she wanted to hold his hand, but it was otherwise engaged with is heavy bow. She opted for conversation instead.

"How'd you get so good at this anyway?"

"Been doin' it for as long as I can remember." He said, "My old man would drag Merle and me huntin' in the weekends."

A wave of revulsion gased her insides. It was reflexive. Ever since she found out about the scars the feeling would pool inside her, an alien anger growing hot whenever she thought about it. She didn't think she'd ever feel such personal animosity towards a complete stranger, a stranger she'd never get to share her opinions with at all.

He didn't say anything about why his father had done that to him and of course she didn't ask. For whatever personal pain Daryl felt over the man, he only mentioned him when appropriate. If there was a story that featured him, he'd tell it with his father's role minimal but present.

The only time he ever indicated any hint of ill testimony was when she soothed his back in the grocery store. The comment had been a proclamation of fact, a simple explanation that his father had been the one to scar him and that was it. No words of venom towards the man, not even a justification. Just acceptance.

Stone cold honest acceptance.

Which sickened her. That awful man had hurt Daryl, had made Daryl feel insignificant. She knew deep down that whatever doubt he had with himself, with his ability as a parent, with his own damn self worth, was because of that man.

She did her best to remain unchanged. She refused her features to succumb to the rage she felt for him. She carried on with the conversation, it was the poliet thing to do. Ending it now would've been rude, and she didn't want Daryl thinking she didn't want to talk because of something that wasn't her concern her.

"Did you go often?"

He didn't answer right away. He looked ahead, eyes on everything but her and with an obviousness to it that she knew he was trying to avoid. Her brows furrowed.

"What?"

He glanced at her, "Nothin'."

"What Daryl?"

He shrugged, "Ya pull this face sometimes, is all."

"What face?"

"We get t' talkin' 'bout somethin', I say somethin' ya think I don' wanna talk 'bout. Ya get afraid that ya hurt my feelin's. Ya pull the face, hide the face, then change the subject best way ya can so ya can avoid us talkin' 'bout whatever we was talkin' about," he said, "Then ya crack a joke or some shit just in case ya think 'm down 'bout whatever we almost talked 'bout, so I feel better 'bout that thing we didn' talk 'bout."

She blinked.

"I don't do that."

"Yeah ya do." He said casual, "Nothin' wrong with it. Funny if ya think 'bout it."

He crouched down and studied a few more tracks. She didn't bother joining him. She didn't like being outed for sparing his feelings like that, it made her sound predictable, silly even.

She didn't like feeling silly.

"We're close t' it." He said, "He rested here for a while then got movin'."

She nodded, her arms crossed. He looked at her, eyes rolling.

"Why ya pissed off now?"

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"W'at?"

"Me not talking about things that hurt you."

"Huntin' Didn' hurt me girl."

"No," she said. She inhaled a sharp cold breath, "Hunting never hurt you. That was someone else."

"There it is." He turned around and followed the tracks, "Ya should just say it. I don' care."

"Maybe you should care."

He turned to face her again, "Well I don'." He was matter a fact about it, blunt almost, "'Cos I know ya won' hold it against me if I say what I want 'bout it. If I even want t' say anythin' bout it. Know ya won' hang it over my head like a secret ya unraveled an' that's why I don' care."

"It's just, well," She sighed, rubbing her neck, "I just didn't want to upset you over it, me asking questions. I didn't want you thinking less of me because I thought the worst of what little I know. I know it's not my place to judge someone I never met, but I do and I just didn't want you getting riled up over how much it riles me up. It pisses me off so much and I don't know anything about it."

He was lost for words. It was not out of shock or revelation or a grand gesture of emotion, it was just an inability to express his thoughts. He looked at her in understanding, because he knew her intentions were good but were torn with a prejudice based on ignorance. She hadn't wanted to cause him any pain with his past, and in her effort she feared she caused pain from the little she did know.

He knew this. That's why he didn't care. Expressing it was just hard, especially for people who were sensitive to the faults of fate.

He lowered his crossbow and took out a cigarette, lighting it up and sucking it between his lips. He looked at her with a soft compassion.

"My Pa was the kind that beat on women," he started. She didn't take her eyes off him, "Beat on kids, loved the bottle, was buried by those who were obliged t' put him in the ground not by those who cared t'."

He took another drag.

"Sonbitch didn' cry a wink when my mama passed. Never visited Merle in jail. Hell, would take us on these hunts so we could get out o' his hair." he puffed out more smoke, gaze on the streaks of grey cloud that erupted from his mouth, "I know ya don' feel sorry for the way my life began, y'ain't the type. Ya angry that he kicked us around, used us as a punchin' bag, made our lives the way they was. But end o' the day it didn' do much good for him. I ain't that sorry 'bout what he did neither Brooke, just sorry for what I did t' me 'cos o' it. My life before an' all."

He breathed out the drag through his nose, the smoke hazed the air between them. He sucked it once more, sucked straight to the butt, before flicking it away and exhaling it out once more. It didn't seem enjoyable, seemed like a waste of nicotine that should have been appreciated nice and slow.

"No one ever had the decency t' want t' be angry for me before." He said, "I see the way ya look when ya wanna ask 'bout it and it's there."

She couldn't help herself, "How could he?"

He shrugged, "Hell if I -"

"No." She sounded so defeated, "How could he do that? I just I don't understand. How could someone betray that sort of obligated trust?"

He shrugged, "Trust is 'bout respect." he said, "Was too selfish to hand anyone else any o' it."

He was right. She knew how he felt the hard way. She kicked at the snow and just walked ahead. He reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers between hers.

He was calm. This was as he said it was. He knew her enough to tell her this without getting worried she wouldn't understand. There was a loyalty between them now, one that came without any pretence for judgement.

He pulled her in slow and pressed his forehead to hers. She stood there, eyes closed, the need to be near him sated and strengthen at the same time.

"I wish he knew what he did to you." She said.

"He did know."

"No. I wish he knew just how much he failed to break you like he wanted. I wish he were alive to see how wrong he was."

Her eyes were closed. She felt his furrowed brows smooth against her own, his lips next to hers, almost touching as they spoke to one another. This was what she enjoyed most about him, how they were together. The unequal mix of opposites and individual traits and past selves stilled in a moment and settled between each other. Just this unadulterated togetherness.

She didn't know how many seconds passed before he pressed his lips on hers. The pressure of his mouth on hers firm but soft. It lingered, spoke to her, told her in ways neither could tell the other just how strong their feelings were.

Because she wasn't an idiot, she knew she was in deep. She just knew admitting it made it all the more real. That, in itself, was terrifying.

So she kissed back light. Gentle. She soaked the taste of him into her soul, because even though they'd done this more times than she could count it was still new. Still uncharted and unexplored. The boundaries they both took care to respect were still being readjusted. Daryl still treated her like someone he didn't deserve and she still treated him as if he'd change his mind on her any second now.

As if he'd get tired of the boundaries and just burn them to hell.

She knew he wouldn't, just like he knew she didn't think of him like that, but they were who they were and they were changing. This togetherness was settling down those fears, it was a catalyst in process. Knowing that there was a person she could let inside, even just a little bit more and more as time went by, eased the apprehension of it all.

They broke apart. She opened her eyes halfway. His the same. Blues hidden by the aging creases of his lashed lids.

His face was an archeological dig site on a life she wanted to know everything about. A life she wanted to be a part of, more than she was already.

One without secrets.

He let go of her and swung his crossbow at the ready.

"Ya ready t' catch this buck or what?"


	26. You Never Have

Hey guys!

Not too long until the finale.

Thanks again for all the reviews, follows, favourites! I love hearing what you cuties think!

❤️❤️❤️

* * *

"There's been more walkers around."

Daryl turned his head. He was outside the perimeters today on watch with Michael. The man carried his gun in his hand, a shined up AK 47 that Daryl had seen him clean this morning. Daryl, cross bow slack and gun in his holster, looked on ahead.

"Ya recon?"

Michael nodded, "Yeah. Might be account of the snow melting. It's getting easier for them to walk around, even then," he rolled a shoulder before settling both hands on the gun again, "It's a lot of them."

Daryl shrugged, "Til we find reason t' think otherwise, can' get worked up over nothin'."

"Perhaps."

They walked on, Daryl ahead by a few steps. Despite his height and his broad gait, Michael did not emit an aura of leadership. Less so than Daryl. Carol's new beau was tall and built, straight blonde hair arranged neatly on his head that swept next to his thick neck. Stood still, he looked more of a bouncer than a psychologist, but that assumption always changed when he did something. There was a gentle, observant nature to his actions, a responsive rather than reactive way he did things. He had a way with people, a certain easygoing nature that people were drawn to.

Daryl almost wished he disliked him, because it would mean someone must've in his life. Michael was just a nice guy. A nice guy that people listened to.

He had a good head on him too. He wasn't comfortable making the descions, he didn't have the knack for it, but Daryl knew if it came to it he would.

"Carol told me that you guys are thinking of staying permanent."

"Depends."

"On?"

"Brooke still wants us t' check this place near the border." He told him, "See if it's even there."

The other man frowned, "I thought she liked it here."

"She does." Daryl answered, "She's thinkin' long term. Her last place was infiltrated, them walkers didn' just break in. Want's t' check it out proper, see if we're safe here an' all."

Michael gave a low whistle, "Didn't even think of that." He said, "I can see why Carol likes her. We're not the best with strategy here, if anything happened we'd be sitting ducks."

Daryl nodded, "She's good at that. Thinkin' ahead."

"Coping mechanism."

The archer cocked his brow at the comment. He shrugged.

"She plans for the worst case scenario. Gives her the illusion of control."

"Think we all do that."

"Yeah," he agreed, "Think we do. Think we should do more of that."

They walked on. He didn't like him talking about Brooke like he had her figured out. Daryl cleared his throat.

"So ya psychoanalyse me too?"

Michael shook his head, "I don't psychoanalyse anyone." He said, "I just notice things."

"Notice things."

He nodded.

"Like how Nathan doesn't like shovelling snow because it reminds him of grave digging, or how Cassie counts every head around her because she's lost a group once," he explained, "Or how Carol makes the kids go in pairs if they're outside so they're never alone like Sophia, or how you make sure either you, Brooke or Carol are with Judith at all times, because the thought of your little girl with anyone you don't trust the slightest reminds you of how things were before."

Daryl's gaze chilled, "Don' waltz 'round thinkin' ya know me."

Michael stopped, eyes on him casual, "I don'. I know. If I had any doubt about what I said you just disproved it."

That pissed him off. Not enough to get him huffing and heaving, but enough to pinch his ego.

"What about you hot shot?" He asked, "Look into all these heads 'cos no one ever wanted t' look at yours"

"Yes."

That was shot lived. Daryl blinked, before shrugging and shaking his head.

"Guess we're all as bad as the other."

"Guess we're all coping."

They'd gone full circle. Daryl couldn't help feel Michael had planned it that way, a point he wanted Daryl to see for himself. The man in question patted his back.

"I meant no disrespect to Brooke." He said, "That's all I was trying to say."

Daryl nodded, "Next time, just say it." He said, "'Sides, don' mean nothin' if it wasn't like that."

"She's your partner." He said, "It's okay to get defensive."

Partner. The word gutted him, each syllable serrated as it stabbed within his psyche. The slower the word travelled through his mind, the deeper the echoes of expectation followed.

Partner.

 _Parrrrrtner_.

Was it appropriate to call them that. It wasn't juvenile. They weren't fooling around with each other for the shits and giggles.

Partner, though? Michael had said it with the same tonal weight as someone addressed their spouse.

Not girlfriend.

Spouse.

He didn't even know if she liked him as much as he liked her. They never spoke about it, never brought it up in conversation. It was the small print in their relationship, the ambiguity of it all.

Though it must not have been as blurred as it seemed. This wasn't the first time people talked about the pair of them as a unit. A more than couple. A team.

Before it would set him on edge. The kids asked him about Brooke expecting him to know Carol would make arrangements with him after checking with Brooke first. Fuck, even he went up to her asking what their plans were from time to time. As if to do otherwise would be unthinkable, not because she'd flip out or anything, but because he wanted to make sure they were on the same page.

Then it was the looks they gave. Some more deliberate than others. Monica had spotted them once, her face lit with a knowing look as the pair walked with Judith to the main building for dinner. They weren't even holding hands that day, but she gushed all the same like most of them did. Michael, however, treated their relationship with an acceptance even Daryl wasn't sure he had.

That made him feel all the more anxious.

Partner. Not Batman and Robin or Watson and Holmes, this was an equal sort of affair. He rolled the word around his tongue, spoke it to himself soft under his breath. Heavy steam floated from his mouth as he repeated it over and over on his way back to his cabin.

When he arrived, the absence of any adult in the room set him on edge. Judith was stood to attention next to the shut bathroom door. She turned to Daryl, face split in a large, now toothy, smile.

He walked over to her, "W'atcha up to sweetheart?" He asked her, "W'atcha up to, huh?"

She grabbed at his legs, her body flinched at the cold touch of his denim jeans. She got over it quick. He picked her up and kissed her.

"Buk." she said. He frowned, gaze shifted.

"She in the bathroom?"

She nodded, happy, "Buk in da baffrum."

He looked at her and nodded, walking over to the couch and sitting them both down. She rolled off of him and sat herself on a cushion. Daryl ruffled her hair and watched her play at the few toys she left abandoned on the seat.

He attempted to spectate. Instead Judith insisted he played along with her. She had a few favourite toys, ones she often left to play on the warmer couch apposed to the cold floor. Her prized possession as of late was a red fire engine that flashed blue when she pressed down on the hood. She refused to give it to Daryl, so he ended up with the near bald Barbie with a half missing arm.

Daryl never really played with toys as a parents weren't the toy buying type, or the book buying type, or the clothes buying type.

His parents weren't the parenting type either.

So whenever Judith presented him with the opportunity, he proceeded with his usual flair.

"Hey fire truck, get ya ass over here. Got my shit beat by a walker an' goin' t' need help."

Judith babbled. Something about stopping fires. A few lines from a T-Pain song Brooke taught her the other day. She looked at him, her face scrunched serious all of a sudden.

"Oh no, Daddy! Bawbie ish sick."

"Damn straight, she needs help." he told her, "Look at her arm, bit clean off!"

They played doctor. It was fun. Daryl almost enjoyed himself enough to forget that Brooke was still in the bathroom.

Almost.

He turned his head, concerned. He got up and walked to the door, Judith unimpressed with the pause to their game. He knocked, a gentle tap against the aged wood.

No answer.

He turned the handle.

It was locked.

His brows furrowed deep.

"Brooke?"

No answer. He hit the door with his palm flat, the sound loud but not firm. Still no answer. He tried fiddling with the handle again, as if by magic it would decide it didn't want to stay locked anymore.

"Brooke." He said, "Brooke, open up."

She was inside. He could hear her shuffling. After a while he could see her shadow, dull and ominous under the door frame. It was short, the blurred shape of the muted darkness near the tips of his worn boots.

"Ya okay?"

There was a soft thud on the door, the shadow shortened. Small flashes of clothes he could only see bits of were visible between the wood and the floor. She was sat next to the door, she wasn't moving.

Something had happened, had triggered her, had forced her back within herself. Brooke, for her faults and flaws didn't allow herself to vulnerable when she wasn't alone. Whatever had upset her, it had riled her up enough to leave Judith unsupervised.

He felt uneasy; he sat himself on the floor. Judith watched from her spot on the couch as he leaned his head on the hardwood. He could see the thin fabric of her mismatched socks from the crack, affirming that he was sat beside her somewhat. A thin amount of wood a chaperone that third wheeled their eventual conversation.

"Hey."

He tried not to sound worried. He tried. She didn't talk back.

"Brooke." He kept on, "Why ya in there?"

A pause. She was quiet when she replied.

"I needed to be alone," she said, "Just for a bit."

Just for a bit.

He felt torn. One part of him wanted to press on but the other respected her need for isolation. He shifted, about to stand.

"I'll be right here if'ya need me."

"Please don't go Daryl."

He settled, confused. He didn't speak after. Niether did she. They didn't speak for a long time.

Until he heard her move. He watched her hand slide something between the door, a small blue square packet. It slid next to his outstretched knee and he picked it up and brought it to his attention.

It was a condom. One of the condoms from the box he brought a week ago and stuck in the drawers. The last thing he wanted was Judith to end up choking on the latex death traps. He lost count on how many times he scolded her for sticking random things in her mouth, and so he saved himself the trouble of wrestling rubbers from a toddler and stuck them someplace she couldn't get to.

His breathing hitched. They hadn't discussed going further in the relationship, the next steps anyway. He had bought them as a precaution, nothing more.

"Hey, 's nothin'." He explained, "Don' mean I wanna do anythin' now. Got 'em just in case. 'M sorry, I forgot t' tell ya."

No answer.

Was that a sniff?

He tossed the condom aside.

"Brooke?" He called, "Honest. Was goin' tell ya. Know we ain't ready for that, just got 'em without thinkin'. I'm sorry."

He felt stupid for apologising because there wasn't anything to be sorry about. He felt like he should be though, on prinicpal. She was locked in a bathroom for God knew how long, and the only clue she'd given him was a condom from a box he forgot to tell her about. That alone was reason for him to appologize for whatever part he played in that.

He was about to call her name again. She spoke before him.

"I'm sorry Daryl."

He shook his head, a hand finding a way through his hair.

"Ain't got any reason t' be." He said, "Come on out, 's fine. Can throw the whole damn box if that's what upset ya, don' care."

"That didn't upset me."

"Well whatever it was we can deal with it."

He heard her shuffle.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"I was raped."

Daryl didn't comprehend what she said. Not at once. The sounds echoed to his ears, but they were just that, sounds. Raspy notes of soft vowels and sharp consonants. Noise. Noise that formed words that he didn't register, not right away.

When he did, it was crisp. It reminded him of fresh cut grass, the way her voice travelled between the many cracks and atoms to get to him. It was like every syllable was a dew drop that came with a bee sting.

 _Raped_.

His body had stilled. His heart was not pounding fast, his palms did not sweat. His very essence froze in this pseudo-denial. This alien feeling of incomprehension and rejected acceptance.

She spoke again. The door still between them. The door that was more like a shield than a barrier now.

"That's why." An overt exhale, the sort that let out a soft whistle as the air rushed out of her lungs, "That's the reason for everything."

He tasted the words in his mouth. Careful, stoic.

"You were raped."

His mouth went dry. That was the only thing that gave away his delayed reaction. There were deserts with more water, sand with more moisture, than whatever level of wetness he had in his mouth.

He heard her bring her legs close.

"Yes." She said, "A year ago. Seven months ago, if we're being precise."

They weren't. It could've been years ago, he doubted it would've changed how he felt just then. Or he thought so, until he did the math.

"Ya was back at the Base."

"Yes."

His mind's eye searched his memories, his real eyes darting from the discoloured wood of the door to his thin blue jeans. The dates. The dates matched other dates, dates she let slip in the past.

"It happened three months before we met." She told him, "I was coming back from a raid with these two guys. George and Oliver."

Oliver. That name. He'd heard it before. She'd talk about him before, once or twice. She'd said on accident, he didn't know when, didn't know if it were even her, but he'd heard it before.

Oliver.

"George pointed a gun to my head," her voice was thick, "He made Ollie get my weapons, told me he'd kill me slow if I didn't listen to him. Stupid, because I knew he'd kill me anyway, he'd have to, but I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what I could do so I did. He told me to take off my clothes. So I did. He told me to get on my knees. So I did."

He didn't want to hear this.

"I can't remember most of it. I think I've blocked it out, or tried to anyway." She said, "It gets blurry from there, I don't remember what I did, just the feelings. I don't know if that's better, but I remember how I felt. How they felt."

His voice cracked, "They?"

"Ollie - _Oliver_ ," she corrected, "Was behind me, whilst George, George."

Her throat tightened, he could tell. The words fizzled within her before she could say more. She didn't, not for a few seconds. Then he heard her gasp, whimper quiet despite herself.

As if whimpering were inappropriate. As if talking about her fucking rape was something that should be done straight face and without fuss.

"It hurt a lot. George kept cheering him on. I remember him saying things, calling me things. I don't know if he wanted to, but I guess he must've. Said I was good for it, like I was some fucking animal. Some God damn object. And a part of me knew he didn't believe what he said, but he said them anyway to impress George."

Daryl cleared his throat. It didn't help the pathetic noise that came out.

"Oliver?"

Another shallowed groan from her end. Soft, timid.

"He always wanted to impress him. Always. George hated me, Oliver idolised George, so he let him have me. And," she swallowed thick, "And I wouldn't let him win. I wouldn't. I wouldn't let them. So, so I bit George, bit down hard. He slipped back and Oliver got scared and I shoved myself off and hit him with a rock. Ollie passed out, then I took George's knife and I stabbed him."

The squeak of Judith moving from one side of the sofa to the next was the only sound that tore Daryl away. He went back to listening.

"I stabbed him, and stabbed him and stabbed him and stabbed him. I stabbed him everywhere, *everywhere*, but his head. I took the knife and stabbed Ollie clean through the femoral artery, put on my clothes and waited for George to turn. It was fast, I didn't stay to watch."

He wished there was a quiet that followed, a time to process things.

But there wasn't.

She kept going.

Despite how much he wanted her to stop, she kept going. She was crying hard now, no longer as composed to remain so passive.

"And when I went back to the Base everyone just believed me." She said, "I told them that they died on the raid and they just believed me. They didn't think anything of it. They treated me like a widow, they were always careful not to talk about him around me, or George, but mainly him because they thought I was, fuck, greiving? Mourning?"

He felt sick.

He wanted her to stop.

"They'd give me these looks, when they spoke about him, like I wasn't ready to forget him" she said, "Like I missed him, when all I wanted was for them to disappear forever."

Daryl patted against the door, "Brooke. Let me in."

"I went back, you know."

He didn't know if he was meant to answer. It was a little hard to tell, the door muffled the intention behind her voice.

"I found them, roaming. I never hated myself more than when I saw what I made them. They, they looked trapped, they had the same faces like when I left them, but God, God above, they looked, they were just," She was talking, fast, "And I kept telling myself I should end them and bury them, I should just end them and bury them. I should've buried them. Oh God. Oh God."

That was all she could throw out of herself before it all consumed her. Daryl sat, blank, child-like. She was behind the door and he was here and there was nothing he could do.

It was unbelievable. Not because he didn't believe her, but because he didn't want to believe her. It made him feel small, the fact that this thing had happened to her and she wore it like punishment. Then he felt ashamed, ashamed at himself for thinking about how this made him feel. Ashamed that right now he wished those assholes were alive so he could hurt them, because of how angry he felt. Shame. Just shame.

This wasn't about his feelings, it was about hers.

So he swallowed it all down, even though a part of him wanted to cry for her too. He knew she'd hate him seeing her as anything less than what she saw of herself, the little light she saw in herself. Because despite the urge to soothe her as the wronged woman she was, he just got another look at her strength.

She had fought back.

She survived.

He didn't know if he could be as strong. He didn't know if he had as much fire. He thought back to his life, the one from the old world and knew with the way he let himself get pushed around he couldn't have kept going like she had.

The more he thought about it, the sadder he got. She faced this alone. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the need to have everything in control, the inability to sleep at night, the way she was with strangers, her views on trust. Daryl was around to see it, help out a little, sure, but she had faced this all alone.

Fuck, this must've been why she tried to leave the Base. This must've been the reason for everything. Even through all of it she still thought she was the bad guy.

And there was nothing he could do.

Nothing aside from just being there, which, as wonderful and great as people like to make it sound, was just shit in real life. Being there, just being there, meant that there was nothing he could do to stop her feeling so fucking shit. Because just being there meant she had to sort whatever fucking mess those fucking cunts got her in, the trauma and the pain and the scars, by her fucking self. She had to make herself better, because there was nothing he could fucking do to fix it.

He could never fix anything.

Daryl Dixon, professional picker of the pieces, never the one to glue them all together.

He felt damp on his shirt. He touched his face, wet, a free flow of tears he didn't feel break cascaded down his face. Bit of his beard, scruffy and wrangled, held droplets of collected sadness. Judith, who somehow managed to slip down the couch safe, waddled to him slow and sat by his side.

She brought her chubby arms around his face and squeezed it. He brought a hand to rest on her back, pulling her on his lap as he held her. He relished, heart sore, as the child held him tight and warm.

He listened to her cry. It wasn't too loud, too soft. It was the bad sort of medium, a consistent downpour of repressed emotion, no wail too dramatic or a sniff too pathetic. Just a monotonous set of huffs and sighs.

He could picture her. Body leant by the door, part for part next to his, hands clasped together, knees up, curly hair in a bun as her face turned red from crying. She'd have her mouth open, but not a lot of noise would come out, snot and dribble from the erratic inhalation of needed air recycled in large insatiable breathes.

He didn't know what to do. Judith fidgeted, the noises, the behaviour, frightening her. She began to cry herself, and Daryl picked her up and soothed her, wiping his own tears away. She shushed, he settled her on the bed before heading back to the door.

He stood there, in front of it. He stood there for a long time. She was still at the dull continuous pace of her unrequited catharsis.

He ghosted his hand against the handle. Fingers embraced the rusted cold steel, his other flat on the door.

There was nothing he could do for her.

He'd give everything he had to stop this pain inside her. It wouldn't matter. He didn't have enough to give.

All he could do was be there.

It was all he could offer, all he could give her.

So he'd fucking give her all of him. His company. His time. Anything, everything, all of it, for her. Even if he hated being that guy, he'd be that guy for her.

He spoke, voice clear.

"Brooke. Please." He didn't care if he begged at this point, "Unlock the door."

No answer.

"Please." He said it slow, "Please. Plea-"

The lock clicked. He took a breath, hand now enclosed tight against the handle. He twisted.

The door pulled inwards, the bathroom filtered with light. She was sat, still sat, sat like he imagined she was. Blotchy, red, hot with unadulterated melancholia. Her head was buried in her hands, they were wiping her face.

She looked at him, looked at him yet refused to meet his gaze. For the many things he'd expect her to be, to look like, this was not it. Everything, the obvious hate, anger, the emotions he himself felt, the ones he didn't know she felt, all of it showed on her face. Her mask wasn't on, and it wasn't for lack of trying.

She looked like she felt, there was nothing to hide from him. Nothing she wanted to hide from him.

He knelt beside her. She looked down. He didn't know what to say. Niether did she.

So instead he stood up. Instead, he presented his arms, hands pulling her to stand. She took them, she stood, he lead her out the bathroom slow, led her to the bed lay her down. He took off both her boots, unlaced them with knowing fingers and then covered her with the blankets.

She watched him, the whole time. She didn't stop crying, not exactly. It was silent, but there were tears that escaped her. She lay there, covered, protected and he sat there and watched her, Judith snuggled next to her and she held her close.

As much as he wanted to not be selfish, the anger ripped his heart to shreds. He sat there, he forced his legs not to bop, forced himself not to chew on his nail or light up a cigarette or just scream.

She slept soon after. They both did. Daryl watched her, bile scratching against his throat, burning him worse than the truth of it.

He grabbed his crossbow and left the cabin. He needed to leave. He saw Carol on the way out.

The look he must've had would've scared everyone away. She thought herself too special to think otherwise.

"Pookie?" She called, "What's wrong?"

He shrugged and kept walking. She caught up with him.

"Hey? Daryl, hey, stop."

He didn't. He didn't turn to see when she stopped following. He needed to be away, just for a little, he needed to be out.

He found a spot in the woods, a twenty minute march. He went looking for them, for the walkers. Anytime he saw one he just hacked at them, slashed hard, harder than needed. When he was there he dragged one he'd just killed and started punching.

It hurt. The crack of bone to fist rippled through his arms. He wished he were in a bar fight, he wished it were safe enough to pick a fight with someone, anyone, and for them to hit him back. He wanted to get socked hard across the jaw. He wanted to beat the fuck out of he felt, of how Brooke felt, of how he felt for Brooke, of how unfair this world was, of everything was.

He stopped because he hit something blunt whilst he pounded through the bastard. It was, thank God, a rock, and the impact was enough for him to recoil. He held his hand on his chest, body rolling against partly melted snow. He cried then. Cried like he cried when Merle died, like the night he found Judith in the woods. He curled, fetal, and cried like a fucking baby, a fucking pathetic baby.

All because another person, because a girl, got raped whilst surviving the end of the world. When did he let himself get so invested in other people's problems? Why did it hurt so much, why did he let it, why did he anything matter? Why?

Was he crazy? To be bawling like an idiot because of this. She was hurting and he wasn't strong enough to not give into this pain and he was here now, fucking weeping.

His girl, his Brooke. She was alone, hurt and alone. He was here because he was too weak to keep his feelings in check and she was fucking alone.

His Brooke was alone.

No. Not his Brooke. She was her own person. He would never own her, never want to. He had no right to own her, she was not a thing, she was precious. She was something precious, and anything precious was autonomous, was her own.

But hell he'd give her all of him. All of him. She could own him. She already did. He'd give her the key to his heart, the deed to his soul, everything, anything for her.

It scared him, this truth. Scared him more than the truth of her betrayal. Was he the boy, the one she loved? Was Oliver the boy? He hoped he wasn't.

He knew he was, but he hoped he was wrong.

She deserved better. She didn't deserve to give her heart so freely to that fucking pig, that degrading animal. She deserved someone that made her realise just how wonderful she was.

Not some fucking rapist, some dick who thought he could take her like he wanted. Share her like a fucking car or toy or whatever.

He never deserved to breath her air, to stand by her presence or cherish her company, let alone be loved by her. She deserved someone who saw her for what she was.

Daryl wanted to be that someone. He didn't know how, he didn't care that he didn't know, he just knew he wanted to be that person. He wasn't very wonderful, so it wasn't like he knew how to show her why she was, but fuck he would try. He didn't care if he failed, if she decided to be done with him, if she turned around and told him she could do better than some hick gutter rat that was too old for her, he'd still fucking try.

He would do anything for her.

Just for her.

She was the fucking solar system his world revolved in.

Eventually he got a grip. It was dark in the cabin when he returned. She was there though. Sat on the sofa, the moonlight unsheathing parts of her beautiful face. She sat there and saw him, her eyes on his eyes once more.

He stood there for a second. Stage fright. He didn't know what to do, what he was allowed to do anymore. She got up and came to him.

She saw his hand first. The early night stars a spotlight to the injury. She reached in and pulled it to her gaze, her touch gentle.

She was always so light with him. Always so soft. It was like every trace her fingertips made were a whisper, an affirmation that all would be well.

She broke his heart, the way she looked at his hand. The worry and concern mixed thick with the understanding. She knew why he'd gone, just as much as she knew why he came back like this.

Her voice didn't sound like she'd been crying. She didn't look like she spent most of the afternoon locked away in tears. She looked good, clean and kept and rested.

She looked like nothing happened to her at all.

"Is it okay if I take a look at this?"

Her big brown eyes were held onto his. He was going to lose it again, he just knew it. There she was, normal. There he was, walker guts all over him with a broken fucking hand. She was totally composed, the very symbol of strength yet again.

He nodded. He couldn't speak. He didn't trust his voice, didn't trust his words.

It was her turn to lead him. Judith stayed asleep whilst she took him to the bathroom. She put down the toilet seat and sat him there before taking a good look at it.

She frowned, eyes studying the various discolouration along his swollen wrist.

She moved it back. He flinched.

"Sorry." She said, "Can you move it at all?"

He hoped so. Anything broken was a death wish now. What good was an archer who didn't know how to cast his own bow?

He should've thought of that before he went ballistic.

He tried. It moved. Hurt like a bitch, but it moved far, far enough to know this wasn't as bad as it looked. The worst a hairline fracture, the not so bad a sprain.

She agreed with him. She shut the door before heading over and grabbing the bucket and sponge. It wasn't warm enough to use the showers, so this was the best they had.

She stood tall next to him, bucket in hand.

"Can you take off your clothes?"

He frowned.

"Yeah."

She took a breath, almost too subtle to notice.

"Can you?"

He looked at her, confused. It was an order not a question. He shook his head.

"Ya don' have t-"

"I want to." She said, "If that's okay."

She looked down then. His eyes were still on her. He nodded.

"'S'okay."

"I'll turn around."

He caught her arm with his good hand, "'S'okay."

She stopped, and turned back to face him. He let go slow, took off the leather vest and undid the buttons on his shirt, his swollen fingers useless as he shucked the dirty thing off. She helped him with the undershirt he wore, it too stained from sweat and blood.

"Pants?"

She blushed, "Yes."

He kicked off his shoes and slipped out of his jeans, his skinny hips barely thick enough to hang them there. He thanked the universe he was wearing underwear. If it weren't winter, hell, if it wasn't for the option of another layer, he would've been as bare as he was born.

She seemed surprised.

"I thought you went commando."

He raised a brow, "Ya complainin'?"

She shook her head, a few times to many.

"No, I just remember you saying you weren't big into it." She explained, "Not since the world ended."

Yeah well, he still wasn't.

"'S cold, that's why."

She didn't wait to respond, she knelt down and started soaking the sponge. He swallowed, hating the proximity of her body to his crotch.

She shouldn't be on her knees for anyone ever again. Never again.

He started to get up. She looked at him and held him down.

"Ya don' have to Brooke, it's fine."

"Daryl, please." She said, "Just, just let me clean you up. I know I don't. I just, I just want to clean you up, okay?"

He didn't want her on the floor.

"You gotta kneel?"

She frowned, "It's not comfortable bending."

"Fine." He said. He slipped down and settled by her, "Better?"

She blinked, "It's cold on the floor."

"'S cold everywhere. Got no clothes on."

She hurried herself. It was thorough. She wiped the dirt away with the sponge, sliding the yellow material over his chest and arms. She scrubbed hard at places that were stained, blood had a tendency to stick to skin.

He focused on his breathing. On his thoughts. On making sure his body behaved when her fingers lingered.

When she was done with the front, she turned him around. She was gentler then, the sponge light on him.

She pressed her lips were the bullet scar was. It was too much for him. Too much after everything.

She could tell.

"You're disgusted."

He felt his heart clench.

"Not at you."

He heard her drop the sponge in the bucket. Arms wrapped around him as she hugged him from behind. Her head rested by the crook of his neck, her whole body a blanket.

With his good hand he held onto both of hers. They met at the middle of his chest.

"I'm sorry."

"Don'cha dare apologise."

"I am though."

"Then stop." He said, "Ain't your apology t' make."

She didn't stop, "I'm sorry I hurt you." She said, "I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes. He was getting pissed, it wasn't fair to get pissed at her for something that wasn't her fault.

"I'm hurtin' 'cos ya hurtin'." He said. He pressed her hands closer to his chest, "Not 'cos ya hurt me."

"I panicked." She explained, "I saw the condoms. I saw them and I panicked because I hadn't told you. I was afraid that if you wanted to do it and I didn't, you wouldn't like it."

He bit his lip, "Ya think I'd a wanted t' anyway?"

She hesitated, "I didn't know."

He sighed. She thought he might've been pissed that she didn't want to fuck, thought maybe he would've wanted to regardless.

"I don' care if we never do it." He said.

"Because I told you."

He shook his head, "'Cos it don' matter."

He felt his back get wet. He soothed her hands, his thumb tracing circles against her closed palms.

"I don't want to ever want to." She said, "Which makes it worse because I want to with you."

It was muffled. Her voice was raspy again. Daryl smiled despite himself. He reached down and kissed her palm.

"Brooke." he was surprised how calm he sounded.

"Yes?"

"Ya not damaged."

"It's okay Daryl." She sounded calmer too, "I've made peace with it, I'm different to how I was before it happened. That can never change."

She was right. That he understood from a personal level. He didn't want to tell her he related, he didn't want to try and undermine her pain in anyway.

He felt lost again, "I wish I could help it."

"What?"

"The pain." He said, "I wish ya never had to go through that. 'S not fair."

She sighed, "I wish your father never treated you like he did."

He scowled, "Ain't the same."

"It's the same to me." she said, "I know what you mean Daryl. What I'm trying to say is it's okay."

He had to say it. He just had to.

"Won' ever make ya do anythin' ya don' want t'."

She let go of him. He turned around. She held his dirty face in her hands.

"I know Daryl." She said, "You never have."


	27. No Harm In Clarifying

Hey guys!

Just one chapter left! *Sniff*

Thanks so much for all the love, reviews, follows and favourites! I love hearing what you think, and you cutie pies never fail to make me feel all gushy and warm inside! ❤️❤️❤️

* * *

Telling him didn't turn out to be the beginning of the second apocalypse.

Actually, nothing much changed.

That terrified her. He'd been gracious with it, upset with her tale and unsure were it left them, but he didn't treat her like she thought he would.

She was afraid he'd see her as the walking wounded, the wronged woman, the victim, which at times he did. Those times were few though, if anything there was an understanding, an unspoken acknowledgment of how she acted and how she was and how those two things conflicted at times.

She believed it was because he'd been hurt too. His past had conflicted the inner workings of his heart and mind. So despite the pain being of a different sort, despite the situation being different completely, a part of him could relate.

What surprised her most was how much he wanted to talk about it. She thought he'd have a couple of things to say after the initial conversation. His quieter self was expected after the bathroom scenarios, but soon he asked questions.

Lots of questions. Never too overbearing. Just, , more than she thought he'd ask. They were never inappropriate, he never pushed hard for answers. They were just questions. Little, mundane almost.

"Ya was ever checked after?"

Or,

"The second ya uncomfortable with me, ya say it right?"

And she answered them, all of them. And she didn't feel scared to.

"Walt checked me over a month later." _But I know if I said he hadn't, you'd find someone safe who would instead._

"I'll tell you if I'm not comfortable." _Your arms remind me of home._

The only odd repercussion was from Carol. She came to ask about how Daryl was doing, concerned over his sudden exit from the camp the day he found out. Brooke sat her down and told her everything, she figured it was for the best that Carol knew.

She was in charge after all. Brooke wasn't what she thought of as stable, and she didn't want that compromising the group. She told Carol less than Daryl, of course, but she said what she needed to say to the older woman.

They were in Carol's cabin. It was identical to theirs. The older woman sat, hand now on Brooke's lap, her face absent of pity.

She looked at her like Daryl looked at her when they spoke about this. It was that knowing look. Brooke had to keep herself in check before going on a limb and saying something she shouldn't.

"Thank you for telling me this Brooke."

She nodded, "I am getting better." She began, "It's a process, and it's slow and-"

She raised a hand, "You can't rush this." She said, "Hurt takes time to heal, I'm glad you're willing to accept what happened, but you must take it at your own pace. This isn't about us, this is about you. And we'll be here to support you."

She couldn't help herself, "What happened to you Carol?"

Carol smiled despite herself, "You're ballsy."

"Takes one to know one."

She nodded in agreement, smile broad, "It does." She got up and handed her a bottle of filtered water, "It's not an easy thing to hear, what happened to me. It's an even harder thing to tell."

Regardless of the saying, Brooke never believed that misery enjoyed company. She did think that hurt souls sought solace in other hurt souls. Carol told her as much as Brooke had told her, still she knew what that pain was like.

The betrayal of trust was the worst of betrayals.

Carol had been hurt, like Brooke had been hurt, like Daryl had been hurt. The method was different, but the result was the same. It's what made talking to her easier than most.

And so, little by little, the weight she carried with her for almost a whole year felt less heavy as the days rolled past. She still had nightmares. Sometimes, when there were too many people around, she'd feel her heart race and her body grow hot. There'd be times when she and Daryl were together that she needed to be away from him, needed her space to reassure herself that things were not the same as before.

It became easier though. Faster than she thought it would. She was coping, and her family was the centre of it.

That's what this place was to her now, family.

Home.

It was an early March morning, a few weeks before their official third month of being at the camp, when the certainty of that thought wafted through her mind. Judith was walking beside her, body covered in a thick jacket, one that was big for her but fit her all the same. She wore the red rubber booties that Brooke and Cassie found at the end of January, the ones that Keegan cleaned up for her when he was on laundry duty.

Her hair was tied up in a loose pony tail, her darkening blonde ringlets trickling down her back. She was jumping on muddy puddles from yesterday's rain, thrilled at the contrast of sticky brown mud against her clean shiny red shoes. Brooke rolled her eyes, the baby never liked being clean.

Screw the genetics. She was damn Daryl Dixon's daughter, through and through.

The little girl looked at her, "Bruk, look wawter."

She nodded, "It's a puddle Judy."

Judith jumped again, "Puwdel! Wawter puwdel!"

She held Judith's hand and walked along, "It's a muddy puddle sweetheart. It'll get you all dirty."

"My shoes?"

"Yes, it'll get your boots very dirty sweetie."

Judith looked down at her booties in shock. She frowned, "No."

She did that a lot now. When she didn't like something, or if she was told to do something and she disagreed, she would just say the word on repeat. It was the former in this instance, she didn't want her red shoes muddied.

Too late.

Brooke laughed, "It's okay, we can clean them up later."

She seemed upset, Brooke bent down and kissed her forehead, "I'll clean them before bedtime, okay?"

The little girl nodded. They walked some more. A small gruff came from behind them.

They both turned. It was Daryl. Judith bolted, tiny legs electric with energy as she sprinted as fast as she could at Daryl. He caught her in one swoop, Judith shrieking in delight as he carried her above his head so she could sit on his shoulders. Two strong hands latched to her tiny ones as he made their way to Brooke.

She smiled, kissing him light on the lips. She didn't notice she did it anymore. It was as normal as waving or smiling, the way they kissed each other.

He bounced on the spot.

"Jesus Judy, ya gettin' big." He said, "Goin' be a lady in a blink o' an eye."

She was loving it, "Again Daddy! Please!"

He bobbed up and down once more before lifting her off of him and putting her down. She laughed, ecstatic by the gesture. He held her hand.

Brooke smiled, "Thought you were on kitchen duty today."

He gave her a look, "Mike's goin' on a raid. Goin' with."

"Ah, so you're skiving."

"Don' act all high an' mighty. Good at killin' the food, shit at cookin' it."

She laughed, "Who was on duty?"

"Carol. Crazy bitch. Wanted me t' make a God damn casserole like we was on Master Chef or somethin'. Left the second I could."

"How can you mess up a casserole, Daryl?"

"I didn'. Ingredients Wouldn' do as they should."

"The ingredients or you?"

He rolled his eyes. She kissed him again.

"Carol done?"

"Still there. Why?"

"I haven't been out in a while. Wanted to come with."

He frowned, "Ya went out three days ago. Went explorin' few days 'fore that."

She huffed, "I like going out on the regular. Is that a crime?"

His lips split into a half smirk, "Should getcha checked fo' cabin fever."

"Hypocrite. You go out as much as I do."

"Know I got cabin fever," he clarified, "'S different."

She ignored him, "Who else is going?"

"Mike an' me. Be quick. He's gettin' something for his an' Carol's six month anniversary."

"People do those?"

"Six month anniversaries?"

"Yeah."

He shrugged. She mused it over.

"I didn't think they were a thing."

He shook his head, "They ain't. Think he want's a reason t' spoil her."

She nodded, "Okay, was worried I had to get you something soon."

It was something that just came out without thought. She then realised what she implied and looked at her feet, trying hard to remain casual. Daryl's cheeks rouged, his face still calm.

He shuffled his feet. Judith fidgeted impatiently, his grip still on her hand as she dug her heels on the mud beneath them.

"Know ya good with dates an' all. Let me know when I need to getcha somethin'."

She cocked a brow, "To spoil me?"

He nodded. She smiled.

"I don't needed to be spoiled." She said, "Plus, I doubt there's a Jimmy Choo's opened anymore."

He frowned, "That some kinda Thai fusion takeout?"

"Try designer clothes brand." She said, "They had the cutest stilettos ever there."

"Outta ya damn mind?" He asked, "Like hell am I riskin' my neck gettin' ya expensive shoes ya ain't ever goin' need t' wear no more."

She smiled, "You're such a romantic."

"Fuck you."

"Soon, if you're lucky."

That made his head spring up so his eyes could meet her gaze. The reaction was quickly suppressed, the impending embarrassment was forced away behind his masks. Brooke saw it though, she thought it was adorable.

She stepped closer to him so that her body was against his, one hand patting Judith's head. He curled an arm around her, lips timid as they planted a small kiss on the side of her face. She spoke, her voice happy.

"What about you, don't you want anything?"

She felt him shake his head, "Nothin'." He said, "Got everythin' I need right here."

She nuzzled his neck, happy. He smelt of spice from his unsuccessful tour in the kitchen and grease from working on the cars with her earlier. Between that was the subtle, undefinable aroma that she associated with him. His own personal smell, the one that lingered on his skin, that perfumed his pillow, that wafted lazy around him after his pre-bed shower.

She wondered if he enjoyed her particular smell as much as she loved his.

He broke their embrace but not the proximity. He was getting better believing he deserved to be physically close her. Judith lugged her hand from him, huffing.

He spun her around and patted her head, "Jealous we ain't givin' ya any attention Judy?"

She pouted. Brooke laughed.

"I think she is." She watched the little girl stamp her feet, another warning sign of an impending tantrum. She turned back to Daryl, "Go on without me?"

He furrowed his brows, "Sure?"

"Judith's antsy, Carol's busy now so she can't watch her and the last time we let someone watch her that she didn't know well enough it was a disaster." She told him, "Poor Riley was crying with her."

"Don' have t' go with Mike, can stay here instead."

"And miss the chance of Mike asking opinions on jewellery and whether he should search the woods for early blooming wild flowers?" She smirked, "If I didn't know any better I'd say you wanted me to come as a distraction."

He was in stubborn denial. She knew the truth.

"Fine." he said, "Want anythin' while I'm out?"

"Razors."

"Razors?"

He looked like he expected an explaination. She just sighed.

"What?"

"I got some." He said.

"And I can't have my own?" she asked, "Who are you, my mother?"

"Fine, Don' get all defensive." He said, "Jesus."

He gave her hand one last squeeze before leaving. She watched him head for the gate, only turning back to see her once. There was no smile on his face, but there was no need for one. She saw it, his mirth, in the way his eyes waved goodbye to hers.

She played tag with Judith then. She felt her chest constrict in a pleasant masicistic sort of happiness. Running around, being active, doing something , anything, seemed to be the only thing she could think of to force the feeling to fade. The two year old relished with the play, her energetic limbs carrying her all over the camp.

Poor little Judith had tired herself out so much, that when they returned home she was mute. She was just too exhausted to express just how exhausted she was. Brooke sponged her clean and clothed her before taking her to the mess hall to eat. There they were doted on by the others, spoken to and joked with.

This was home. She was home.

Did she have regrets? She wasn't going to be stupid and say she didn't. Still, if by some cruel twist of fate, or a reaffirmation that Murphy's Law still existed, or just plain shit luck befell her and she died tomorrow, she wouldn't die bitter of the life she had. She'd just be upset of the one she'd be leaving behind.

Every second she stayed with these people was another second she felt human again. Felt like the pieces of her, the broken, disfigured parts of her soul, mended a bit more. That was just when she was with the Camp, the healing she did in the company of her family was incomparable to that.

She carried a sleeping Judith back to the cabin. There a clean and changed Daryl sat with a bag of new goodies. He looked up, gracious features soft and warm as they lay their sights on each other.

"Hey."

"Hey."

She sat next to him. He nudged her shoulder, his request to hold Judith whilst she slept. Brook obliged.

He pushed a stray hair away from his little girl's face, a hand wiping a trickle of drool from her chin. He turned back to her.

"Didn' go near no pharmacies, just boutique shops." He said, "Looked, but didn' find no razors."

She felt her stomachs sink in disappointment. He noticed her change. She shrugged it off quickly and smiled at him.

"It's fine." She said, "Not the end of the world."

He gave her a look, "Sorta is."

"Would it kill you to be more glass half full?"

"Comin' from you?" He rebuffed, "I am glass half full."

"Ha. Ha."

He smirked and looked down at Judith, "Dinner over?"

"Yeah, saved you a plate at the mess hall."

He nodded, "Will go get it in a bit."

She got up, "I'm washing up. Won't be too long."

She planted a kiss on his forehead before making her way to the bathroom. Halfway through scrubbing herself with the sponge she heard the door shut. She rinsed herself, cringing at the sight of her hairy, unruly legs and well folicalled underarms.

She'd get the razor tomorrow. Then, when the moment was right, she'd ask him? No. Propose the idea of-

She sighed, drying herself and shucking a large grey shirt and a pair of thick black sweatpants. She wanted to let him know she was ready for more than heavy petting and, on that one occasion when he accidentally soiled himself, clumsy dry humping. Saying she was ready to have sex shouldn't have felt like a business proposition.

It seemed a little formal. Overly formal. She needed it to be formal, knew he'd understand, but a part of her wished it would have been as easy as fucking and getting it over with.

She opened the door, pausing a moment to collect her things when she heard it. It had interrupted her thoughts, stilled them even.

Singing.

Daryl singing.

She opened it wider, just a crack. Judith was in his arms, head on his shoulder as Daryl rocked her from side to side. Her eyes were half open, battling between wakefulness and sleep. It was ordinary, the scene, she'd seen him do this a hundred times by now whenever Judith woke up or was scared or needed to calm down.

She never heard him sing before.

It was low, raspy baritones danced between her ears in comforting pitches and tones. It was good. She figured she was more surprised by that than the act itself.

Until she realized he wasn't just singing any old song. He was singing Sinatra. 'Under My Skin' by Frankie Fucking Blue Eyes.

If she wondered whether he knew she was watching, she got her answer. He turned on his spot slow, unaware of her spectating until his head raised a little with his swaying. His eyes widened a fraction, lyrics disappearing, singing replaced with almost inaudible humming as he kept turning and swaying from side to side.

She didn't want it to end.

"Don't stop because of me."

His back was turned when he answered, "She's sleepin' again." He said, "Goin' stop now anyway."

He lay the little girl on the bed, tucking her back into the undone covers. He didn't look at her. She walked up to him, undoing her bun and letting her hair fall.

"I didn't know you like Sinatra."

"Never asked."

"No. I think I did."

He cocked a brow and looked at her, "When?"

"I swear I asked you what you like to listen to? I mean, I told you I liked Justin Beiber."

He pulled a face, "Was probably too busy vomittin' over how much you love Justin Beiber."

"I like Frank Sinatra too."

"Most people do."

"I liked hearing you sing."

He looked down and turned, shrugging, "Wasn' singin'. Not really."

A plate of abandoned food lay untouched on the coffee table. It still had the cling film on it. Daryl moved the bag and sat on the couch.

"Daryl?"

"Brooke?"

"Can you sing again?" She asked, "For me?"

He looked uncomfortable. He sat, legs crossed, arms entangled tight across his chest, despondent. She shook her head, quick.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Honest."

He nodded, watching her. Expression unreadable.

She went to the drawers and put the clothes that she wore neatly inside. She heard him fidget, turning to see him up and looking to the floor. His arm was stretched to her, his hand ready for her hand.

She frowned. He just stood there, shaking his hand as a second passed between them. She took it and bridge the gap between them, only to have her one arm raised and her other hand guided to his shoulder. He settled his own free one to her waist and started pulling her along with his movements.

She looked down at her feet first, before looking at his face, one that was still looking everywhere but at her. She watched him, undecided between feeling touched or feeling elated.

It was a mix of both.

He pressed his body close to hers, mouth by her ear and then swayed. She understood why Judith loved this, there was nothing more comforting that being near Daryl. Nothing better than having her body close to his.

It wasn't movie perfect, or something out of a fairytale. He already managed to step on her feet and she kept moving before him, unused to not taking the lead. Still it was wonderful, and it got better when she heard the soft murmured words of 'Under My Skin' reprised.

He didn't sing so much as speak with melody, but she knew how awkward this made him feel. Daryl was a creature born with inherent affection. He would deny it, believe he wasn't as caring as she knew he was, but given the option to categorise him, Brooke believed he was a true lover not a fighter. The world had forced him to be otherwise. Still, his compassion was as much a part of his soul as the soil was a part of the Earth.

He sung to her, sung the whole song to her as he danced close with her. Close enough to stop her heart from swelling out of her chest. Mid way through the chorus, both heads lifted so they could see each other full, she silenced him with her lips.

She never kissed him like this before. It was like she was a glutton for him, firm and hungry and so sure. He kissed back, timid at first and then with as much building force to match hers. Hands fell between the curves and bends of now limp arms, arms that were now traversing and grasping against the fabric of creasing shirts.

Mouths opened, he tasted of cigarettes mixed with soft sweetness. A hand was at her neck, titling her head whilst bee stung lips suckled on her ear lobe. He kissed the skin by her collarbone and stayed there to nibble against it. Her legs were liquid, she arched her back and gripped tight on his shoulders as she sighed. A painful, repressed moan that blew out of her parted lips like sin.

The crevasse between her thighs pressed opposite the growing prison bulge of his jeans. She pushed her hips closer to his, the friction a gift and a curse. Daryl hissed, head buried in the crook of her neck, palms spread wide against her buttocks.

He was too afraid to be rough with her. She appreciated it, but she wanted him to pull her even closer, to squeeze and touch her. She tilted her head back and kissed along his jaw, her hands ghosting the hem of his jeans.

She spoke as the stopped at the button of his jeans.

"Daryl."

He stopped. She looked at him, hands ghosted down from the button to his trapped erection, shy fingers tracing the fabric that barred him from her.

"Daryl, I want to, can I please," she was breathy, shaky, with anticipation, "Please can I touch you."

He went rigid before a shiver danced along him, leaving his body in an obstructed whimper. He didn't answer, but she didn't move her hand. Digits kept caressing the denim, settling lower and cupping along the seam.

His grip on her ass tightened.

She took that as a yes.

She unbuttoned the jeans, hands worked the zipper before he could get second thoughts. Then, in one quick move, she helped lift him free. Daryl sucked a breath, penis in her palm, the velvet soft skin pulsating.

He cleared his throat, "Don' gotta do nothin'."

She looked up. His posture was hunched, body in delicious agony as he tried to look her in the eye. She took her other hand and cupped his cheek, kissing him light on the lips.

"I want to do everything," she said, "Everything for you."

His face was flushed. She pumped her hand slow a couple of times whilst she spoke to him. He lifted his head and swallowed hard.

She smiled, "Sit over there."

She let go of him. He sat on the sofa, legs spread with his erection at full mast and standing to attention. She got very self-conscious then. His blue eyes were black with lust, pupils dilated to the point that she could see her own wanton reflection staring back just as hungry.

The look didn't last long. He frowned at her, face contorted in sudden worry when she didn't move.

"Y'okay?"

His voice. It was gravity to her, it kept her in orbit. She watched him watch her anxious, and she saw how little he cared about just fucking her. She knew, she knew if she said she changed her mind right now, he'd not even argue. If she told him whatever they had was over from that moment forward he'd agree without hesitation. Even though he'd want to. Even though they both knew it would kill him inside.

So despite her fear, despite knowing a part of her would always be afraid, she wanted to be afraid with him. Sharing that fear with him was still being with him, and being with Daryl was the best thing this world ever did for her.

"Brooke?"

Her lips turned upwards, small smile on her face.

"Sorry," she said, "I spaced out."

He brought his legs closer together and, for the second time tonight, gave her his hand. She took it. He pulled her over, his head dropped by her belly button.

"We don' have t' do anything. 'S okay."

She nestled her hands in his clean long hair. It was soft, greasy at the very tops of the roots from the day's sweat. He pressed a lingered kiss on her covered navel.

"I wanted the razor so I could shave my legs."

He tilted his head up, confused.

"W'at?"

She looked down at him, hand moving stray hairs from his forehead. She didn't want to have anything blocking her view of him. There were times when she wanted to act stupid and gushy and just look at him for long uninterrupted minutes on end, and now was one of them.

"I wanted to shave my legs," she repeated, "And under my arms, they're kind of gross. I wanted to be clean for you, and then I wanted to tell you that I'm ready to have sex with you, and that if you wanted to plan on doing anytime soon I wouldn't mind it."

He blinked.

"Ya wanted that so you'd be ready to fuck me?"

She blushed a furious shade of red, "Don't say it like that Daryl."

He smirked and shook his head, "Ya crazy girl," he said, "Don' care 'bout that. You shouldn' either, ain't gotta be clean for nobody but yaself. Ain' plannin' on schedulin' a date to screw 'round neither. Some things are better when ya let them happen on their own."

He kissed her navel again. Their eyes locked and he sat up and pulled her on his lap. She straddled him, unsure where to look as she felt his hands rest on her hips and his head under her neck.

She gulped, "I wanted to be perfect for you."

His head swayed as he shook it.

"Ya better than that." He said, "Like ya beat up bits. They're what makes ya you."

"I know you do. That's why." She said, "But I still anted too. You deserve someone who'd make themselves look nice for you."

He sat up again, eyes on her, "Ya more than I deserve Brooke."

"Don't start that crap again."

"Ya the one that started it."

"It's because everything I want to say isn't coming out right." She said, "I feel like I'm fifteen. I hate it."

He smirked, "Just say it. What's the worst that can happen?"

"It changes everything."

"Everythin's changin' all the time." she gave him a look, he sighed, "My opinion o' ya won' change much, swear."

She leaned her forehead on his, "I don't want to fuck you."

"'S fine, don' matter-"

"I think fucking doesn't do you justice." She interrupted, "I don't want to just fuck you Daryl. I care about you too much to do that. I don't ever want to just fuck anyone ever again, least of all you."

He was silent. The lust was gone, replaced with something much more serious. The calculated part of him was working again, the diverted blood flow back to his brain. Neurones sparked as her words digested within him.

"I want to make you feel better than anyone else, because you make me feel like that every day."

Was her face just as scared? Were her eyes as wide, two orbs of brown that glinted her feelings for him. When did his mask become obsolete around her? When did she stop caring if he knew what she was really thinking.

He shifted, her straddled body cradled and turned so that she now lay below him. The fear was still there, the inability to predict how this will all end prominent. He knew it, saw it, and still he looked at her like she looked at the stars that littered the night.

Like she was a beacon, a sun, in a lightless oblivion.

Shaky hands came up to his button up brown shirt, pausing a moment to see if the action was allowed. She hitched her breath and nodded. He undid them, the sleeves rolled off along with his leeather jacket onto the floor. He went to shuck off his jeans when she sat up, hands on the hem, easing him out of the faded fabric. They slid off without hesitation, smooth and abandoned on the floor next to the shirt and jacket.

He was naked. Bare. Sagging skin that once held substance was lean with minimal fat, arms sculpted from years of archery, little scars, ones she would have missed if she were not so close, sprinkled on his alabaster complexion like black pepper in a field of salt. There his penis, proud and free, was nestled between a thick bush of dark pubic hair. It climbed and trickled to the tips of his navel, a vine of soft hair that ended on his chest in sparse wisps.

He was naked and kneeling above her. His figure intimidated her. She still held him, fingertips pressed gentle on the dimples of his back.

He was this strong, dangerous man. He towered above her. They both knew he wouldn't hurt her in ways she had been hurt before.

He bent down and kissed her lips, hands on her shirt. Hard kiss, slow kiss. They broke apart, eyes on each other as she brought his hands on her shirt and lifted them up. The action was tantalising, unhurried.

She heard his breath hitch as the oversized tee joined the floor. He stopped for a moment, fingers above the new found mounds. She was hot, red faced, a pang of heat pulsating from her loins as he alternated his gaze from her breasts to her eyes.

He kissed her again. Short lived kisses. A succession of pecks, inviting the desire for longer, deeper ones as his one cold hand cupped one small breast. His other hand anchored behind her neck as his mouth trailed those short kisses down from her collar bone to her other unattended breast.

He looked up as he suckled. She curved her frame back, hands in his hair again as she felt him tease the hardened nipple between practiced teeth. She groaned, soft. Eyes shut as she felt him lick and suck and play with the sensitive flesh.

She ran her hands along his back. Palms trailed down the battered skin, moving down his hips to grip him again. A small sound stopped itself from his escaping his lips, only audible through the slight noise in his throat.

He paused, lifting his head away from his work and back to her mouth as he pushed her gently down. She looked up at him, his body sat up, his hands peeling her sweats off of her legs. She lifted her hips, legs together as she shimmied out of her worn through underwear. Halfway he took hold of the fabric and looped them off too, hands rubbing up and down her thighs, eyes on her hot tuff of hair covering her coveted opening.

He looked at her again, body leaned over to kiss against her stomach before heading due south. He licked the side of her thigh, stopping at one spot to bite against the stimulated skin. She inhaled, fast and without relief.

He was nestled right next to her vagina, eyes now on her as one hand rested by her entrance.

Her lips were dry. One of her hands had found their way to his head again. He brought his free hand to meet with hers, uncomfortable with the angle, as lips pressed against the tip of her engrossed clitoris. His fingers laced with hers as he licked, tongue lathering the lips and sucking on the neglected tip.

She moaned then. A Loud, anguished moan. The sort to snap her out of it enough to remind her that Judith was alseep a few feet away. She didn't dwell on that thought long. It took her attention away from other things.

Like Daryl's mouth pressed into her vagina, nose buried deep between her. His tongue, the valiant explorer, intruded in delicious intervals. Two fingers held the nub of nerve endings, squeezing and rubbing in repetitive circles. He lapped her up, the thought of him tasting her juices, tasting her excitement for him, all the more arousing.

Her eyes were closed again. Little sounds, sounds that slipped past her self control, were recited like prayer. She didn't know what she was saying, the ecstasy a wild fire that lit up her every neurone, ever muscle, every vessel in her body.

The only sound that registered from her mouth was his name. Choked, raspy. It was the only coherent thing she wanted to say. The only thing she wanted on her lips, in her body, in her soul.

He moaned, jaw still glued to her sweet opening. His tongue pierced her as his mouth sucked, fingers pressing the nub in tandem to his actions. She felt her walls contract, the sudden acquired tightness pooling the unbearable pleasure to a boiling point. She gasped, short, quick breathes entering and leaving her body as he worked her without a change of pace. The more he kept at it, the less control she had, and soon, in tides that mimicked the magnitude of earthquakes, her hips bucked up and she felt her whole body contract as orgasm burst through her.

For a moment, her brain was so doped up on the bliss that her whole world revolved around her dripping wet vagina, pulsating in spardonic movements. Her blood was replaced with pleasure, her heart no longer the centre of the flow but instead her sensitive loins. She bit her lip as she came, a high pitched squeak the only indication that she was riding a post-orgasmic, her pussy grinding against Daryl Dixon's hot sticky tongue.

Her breathing came in laboured gasps, as her eyes remained closed. He was still on her, gentler, tongue nipping the bundle of abused nerves with care. She arched forward to look at him, breasts rising and falling as she watched him surface from her. Black pupils, large and round, were one hers as wet lips licked themselves clean of her juices.

Her legs were useless. She pushed herself up on her elbows and reached over to kiss him. He obliged, the unfamiliar taste of herself smeared on her mouth like lipstick. Soft and comforting, his soiled hand on her neck as he kissed her with the same carefulness as the first time.

They held each other. Naked, embracing. Languid kisses, lazy and honest cleaned their skin. His head was resting on her neck, his beard scratched against her bare shoulder, whilst her sat on his.

"Brooke?"

She didn't turn to him, mind calm as her hands ran along his back again.

"Mmmm."

She felt him stiffen. Her eyes butterflied open, gaze on the darkening room. She felt vulnerable, calmer yes but that constant apprehension buzzed low within her.

It was buzzing lower and lower as of late.

"Don' mind 'f I," he paused, stopping himself, "May I please."

She frowned, "What?"

He broke the hold, expression uncertain.

"Never min'."

She didn't buy it. He kissed her on the forehead before getting up. Her arms fell loose from him, draped back on her lap as she watched him cover himself with his palms. He headed to the bathroom.

"Daryl?"

He turned around. She felt exposed. They never saw each other fully undressed before, certainly not after doing *that*.

"Be back," there was no malice in the tone, "Need t' sort myself out."

Her furrow deepened, "Sort yourself out?"

He stood there, awkward, "Yes."

Her gaze lowered. It traveled down his body to the the concealed part of him.

Well, there was no harm in clarifying.

"As in," she licked her lips, "Jerk off?"

Of all the brilliant blushes she'd ever seen, his furious red checks were the most beautiful to witness. She smiled. She couldn't help it, it was a little funny.

He cleared his throat, brow cocked in slight annoyance at having been outed.

"Ain'tcha damn business."

Oh it was. It most certainly was her damn business. She was the reason he had that problem to start with. Her heart skipped a beat at a consequential though.

"Did you want me to," She began, "You know?"

She didn't want to do anything oral. Not yet, it was too soon. She had to ask to make sure. To at least address it.

He shook his head fast, "No."

Her eyebrows raised, "No?"

"No."

"Oh." She nodded, another question followed, "So you weren't trying to ask me to?"

"Hell no." He said, "Was goin' t' ask if I could do it next t' ya."

"You were?"

"Yeah, 'til I realized how pervy it sounded," he said, "So ya mind? Gotta sort myself out."

She was grinning, "You've got nerves of steel. I don't think I could jerk off when everyone in the next room knows I'm doing it."

His face scrunched up, he looked pained.

"Damn it girl, please. Just let me be, I'm beggin' ya."

He looked at her. Any worry she had was silenced, the embarrassment soothing. If anything all this made her feel normal.

Sex, whatever form it was, wasn't perfect the first time round. It was awkward. It was were the boundaries were redefined, where the limits were crossed and recrossed. Here they were, the both of them uncertain, and that hesitation grounded her, made her warm.

"I don't want you to ever beg to me Daryl."

He sighed, "Fine, cool. I'm goin'."

"Stop."

He did, faster than she knew he'd like to admit. She peeled herself from the couch, the leather sticking to her thighs. Little red marks flourished all over her as she went over to him.

He stood there. Obedient. She took his hand and walked him back.

They both sat down. His hands nestled above his cock and balls, thick hair spiralling between his callouse fingers. She rested a hand on his, his body stilled.

"Ya don' have t'."

"I know."

"Don' owe me nothin' neither."

She looked him dead in the eyes, "I know. I want to." A panicked look flashed across her face, "No blowjobs."

He nodded, "Won' make ya." He murmured, "Won' ever treat ya like they did."

It panged her heart. She felt sad because of before, and sadder because he seemed to doubt how much she believed him. She kissed him on the lips light and straddled his lap.

He let his hands drop, cock semi erect. His palms settled on her hips, rubbing down her thighs upon occasion before congregating back. She wrapped a hand around the delicate skin, member hot and wanting. The sound he made was throaty, the moan suppressed and ached.

She kissed along his collarbone, sucking hard right on the spot she knew made him crazy. She wanted this to last him, wanted him to enjoy it. Her hand moved slow up and down his shaft, squeezing a little at the sensitive tip and turning before moving down again. His head fell back, mouth agape as the sensation took him hard.

The sounds he was swallowing came out in whimpers and muffled cries, concealed by well timed kisses on Brooke's part. With her free hand she reached down at his testicles and fondled the soft balls before squeezing, the rhythm parallel to the ones she made with his cock.

He was gripping her. Fingers dug into her thighs, right next to her ass, subconsciously pulling her body in rocking motions towards and away from him. She was leaking on his legs, every time her name was grunted made her wetter. Towards the end, his eyes were tight shut, crinkles by his crows feet heavy, as his body succumbed to what she was doing to him.

She knew it wouldn't take long for him to cum. She expected it, didn't find it funny that he could last as long as a teenager, or the fact that he was almost weeping her name for her to make him feel good. This wasn't about control, about favours, about sex, not at all.

This, this was about love.

It wasn't exactly romantic, accepting what the two of them shared as she kissed him sound as he orgasmed. It wasn't a big revelation, she'd known she loved him long before, felt safe to trust him enough to love him completely. It was mutual too, that she was certain. She thought about this, the warm fuzzy feeling swelling her chest as he stilled, panting hard, body clutching her as semen dribbled all over her hand and their thighs.

She kept kissing him. He whispered gratitude in her ear, said something along the lines of 'amazing' and she thought she thought she heard him slip and say he loved her, but played it as a trick to the ear. He'd yet to say it straight and clear, and honestly, she didn't need him to say it for her to know.

She knew through the little things. Like how he was planting sloppy kisses on her shoulder. Or how he'd grabbed his shirt and wiped her clean first. Or how, softened penis hanging, he gripped her like a child and stood up, settling her on the bed.

He passed her forgotten clothes, forced his legs through his jeans and slept beside her. Faces facing each other. His hand on her face, hers on his hand.

She spoke, quiet, fatigued.

"Daryl."

"Brooke."

"Thank you. For everything."

He touched his forehead with hers. Nothing more said. One last kiss goodnight, and then sleep.


	28. Upon Reflection

So here it is.

I'm at a loss for words. Not the best thing to be when you're a writer, really. Please enjoy this my darling readers, this chapter is dedicated to all of you.

For the last time, thanks again for the love, reviews, the follows and favourites.

You are all my stars in a sea of darkness.

❤️❤️❤️

* * *

Their budding sex life was not new for very long.

Life was not routine, thankfully, but their involvement with each other was ordinary to them. Even in his memories Daryl struggled to see Brooke as anything but what he saw her as now. It would be an odd reminder, not alarming so much as mildly surprising, when his mind wandered back to how they were when they first met.

Both of them. They both were different now, to each other and themselves.

The community, the boys and girls of the Camp, were his comrades. The adults his friends. These people were taught how unstable this world was. They were not afraid of it crumbling beneath them, they were afraid of crumbling with it.

Carol had shown them the light. Had shown Daryl her plans for Spring. She was going to develop parts of the unlived buildings, search for other settlements as a source of trade, find some ex-doctors and establish a hospital. She didn't have dreams for them, she had a vision and he knew that she was going to do what she needed to achieve that.

They spoke about it one morning in the barn. They cleaned the place once a week, it was their thing. As she shovelled shit into the bucket, she asked him something.

"What's your plan Daryl?"

He littered some of the hay in Google's pen, "Plan?"

"Plan."

The cow, who'd grown to like him, nudged her head against his arm. He petted her lightly.

"Ain't got no plans Carol. W'adya think this is, summer school?"

She shot him a look, "Come on, nothing? I know times aren't exactly easy but you need to have a reason, a thing to keep you going." She said, "What's yours, if you have one?"

He shrugged, "Hate t' disappoint but only things I ever plan for are 'f my family are concerned. We're here now, so ain't nothing for me to think 'bout."

"Family as in Judith and Brooke?"

He nodded, keeping face. She returned the nod in understanding.

"So whatever makes them happy."

He nodded. She patted his shoulder, "Brooke came up to me and asked if she can have a more active role in the Camp's defences."

He frowned, "She didn' mention nothin' to me."

"It was a little unexpected," she admitted, "Her ideas are pretty out there. She's got opinions on things like scouts and attack formations and expanding the Camp's reach and numbers. Mentioned the place you were searching for, Alexandria. Thinks that when we're more stable we should check it out"

"Not bad ideas."

She nodded, "I didn't think so either. It was refreshing hearing it from someone other than me."

"What did you say?"

"I told her that I'd think about it, and honestly I think she's right. What she wants is too premature, we just don't have the people or the resources for it, but one day we will." She went on shovelling, "I want to take her under my wing. That girl's a leader, she's got goals for this place. There aren't many like her left."

His chest swelled with an unconditional pride. It warmed him when others recognised her potential, made him feel happy to be even the slightest bit associated with her. Carol noticed it and smiled despite herself.

"She spoke about your place here too."

The feeling faded.

"W'at she say?"

"She says that as far as hunting and tracking went you're still aces, but your calling is with children. She thinks you should be in charge of training them. You know, teaching them the essentials."

"They learnt that already."

She stopped, "Daryl of the people in camp only 3 of us have lived on the outside for longer than a couple of days at most. They're being trained by people who need training themselves."

"An' Brooke figured I'd be happy to play school? W'at she expectin' me t' do, take the damn kids on runs for days at a time?"

"Among other things."

He shook his head, "'S stupid, that's w'at it is."

"It's a start." She said, "They already look up to you because they know you've seen it all. I'm not going to kid myself and say that all of those kids will be alive a year from now, but you'll help to keep the numbers high."

He sighed, musing it over.

"Ain't the best sort for teachin' Carol." He said, "You know that. She knows it. W'at's the point if I can't do it?"

"Because she thinks you can." He told him, "She knows you can, with every fibre in her being."

So it was decided, informally and without much conversation on Daryl's part. It was all over when Carol said that to him. Brooke was a vice, and he was at her mercy.

The only thing greater than his affection for her was his infinite love for Judith.

His daughter, Judith.

His child.

The little one wasn't wary of the others at the Camp anymore. They loved playing with her, reading to her, singing with her. Daryl would watch her with them, little pig tailed blonde curls, brighter than gold, bouncing along as she passed the children and ran around them.

He didn't feel guilty when she called him 'Daddy'. Not anymore. Never for her.

The kids made her cleverer. Too clever sometimes. She asked him what a 'Mommy' was, to which he explained simply as the girl version of a 'Daddy'. Without much surprise she said that was Brooke, and Daryl agreed.

Why wouldn't he?

She bathed her, clothed her, fed her. She played with her when she was bored, sang to her when she was tired, danced with her when she was too awake. She brought toys for her on runs and taught her nursery rhymes. She calmed her when she'd cry and scold her when she was naughty, which was rare when she was around Brooke. Judith idolised her, adored her, in every sense of the word.

What was most important was how strongly Brooke loved her. She loved her with an all encompassing love. The sort that would never fault if tested. Should fate be cruel she would give her life for Judith to live hers, and Daryl was more certain of this than whether the sun would rise tomorrow.

She'd sooner let Daryl die then let Judith die, and she loved him. Fiercely loved him. She had never ushered the words, but she didn't need to. He just knew.

They didn't have a song. They never formally established their relationship, there was no talk of what the other was to them, or whether this was something more or less than the other thought. They didn't have a date for their anniversary, they'd never been on an actual date at all, and frankly neither cared.

What they had was each other.

That was more than most could claim in this new world.

Daryl didn't need more than that. He knew Brooke didn't too. It didn't stop the pair from expressing it, in showing it in the little things.

The day after he first really touched her, after he came beside her, after he saw her as bare for him, he found a box of new arrows neat on the bed from her run earlier that day. One time, before or after he couldn't remember, he came home found she brought his clothes back from the laundry for him. Then there was the fact that she always swapped jobs on the rotar with him when he was to work in the kitchen, never making a fuss about it at all.

She never told him it was her who'd done it. She'd ask later if the arrows were the right ones, or if she forgot anything from the laundry, or if he even wanted her to swap with him on kitchen day, but she'd never outright say she went out of her to do those things. It was one part modesty and another irrelevance to her. She loved him, she showed it. She didn't want and neither saw the need to flaunt it.

But he wanted to, at least once. For her.

He wasn't much of a planner, not for these sorts of things. It took a lot of effort and preparation, and he did think it was pretty silly how invested he got. Merle would have called him a pussy, or desperate, or out of her league, but fuck it he just wanted to do this for her. When it was ready he got Carol to babysit Judith, geared themselves up for the trip and left the Camp with Brooke, confused and intrigued, by his side.

They took the truck to get to the main road. After sorting out a couple of walkers around, Daryl led her down it. They stopped when they reached a covered car.

She frowned, wiping her knife on the car cover.

"What are you up to?"

He smiled at her, "Lift it."

Her brows furrowed but she was smiling as her hands grabbed the light material and removed it. The weeks of hard work paid off in milliseconds when he saw her face.

Her jaw had dropped, agape.

"It's a fucking Challenger." she couldn't believe it, "Fuck Daryl, it's a _Dodge_ Challenger."

He nodded, handed on the roof, "1970. First generation."

She tore her eyes away from it before looking at him, "Where did you find this?"

"Here."

"Here? Someone left a sports car in the middle of the fucking freeway?"

This was better than he thought she'd act, "Yep. Keys still in the ignition too. Just sittin' here, full tank o' gas and four good wheels."

Her eyes glistened, "We're going to drive it?"

She knew they were going to drive it, why else would they be here. Still, he saw it, saw the slimmer of doubt that this was all too good to be true and that any minute they would have to go back. She looked like a child, so full of fragile hope that depended on Daryl's answer.

He nodded, opening the car door before making his way to the passenger seat. She hopped in, hands tracing the seams of the wheel, eyes glancing around the dashboard, her mind taking everything in categorical order. She looked at him, beaming.

"Daryl," her voice was crisp, "This is so fucking cool."

He smirked, "Damn it girl, ya just gonna look at it all day? Start the engine."

She twisted the key. Daryl heard the motor wake, the slight groan of the rusted engine working once again. She laughed, hands gripped on the steering wheel as the sound spoke in rumbles to them.

The excitement was short lived. She shifted the gear to drive. It lurched forward before stalling to a stop.

Both frowned. She turned to him, brows now raised.

"Checked the engine?"

Daryl nodded quick, "Fixed the damn thing m'self."

He opened the car door, lifting the hood. She got out and joined him. A small cloud of grey smoke wafted above.

He went back into the car, Brooke sticking her head in to take a look at the engine. The dashboard blinked, a tiny red light telling him that the battery, the one he jump started too many times to count, was throwing another tantrum.

Typical.

He joined her again, "Fuckin' battery."

She looked up, grease clinging to her green shirt. Or actually, Daryl's shirt. She decided about a month ago it was too nice for him and she was to wear it from now on.

She didn't seem fazed, if anything she was still chirpy.

"Could grab the truck and bring it over?" She said, "Or hook a car nearby?"

He shrugged, "'Fya want."

She wrapped her hands around his waist and pulled him between her legs, her body leaned against the open hood. He frowned.

"W'at?"

"You don't have to sulk because it didn't work." She said, "This is still pretty great."

He grunted, "Was workin' fine the o'er day. Fast too. Looked around for a new battery but figured wouldn' need it if it was runnin' fine."

"You drove it?" She looked excited again, "How was it?"

He smirked, "Somethin' you'd wish you'd a done."

She rolled her eyes, stood up tall and kissed him light on the lips before breaking free. He watched her make her way to the front seat, get in and shut the door. He took out a cigarette, lit up and did the same, sitting this time in the driver's seat instead.

He didn't bother trying again. He asked if she wanted to and she shook her head. They sat, silence familiar, as Daryl enjoyed his smoke and they both enjoyed their company.

She looked at him,, eyes firm with a frightening certainty.

"I love you." She said, "You know that, right?"

He had the smoke between his teeth, about to suck another drag. He looked at her, heat eating the paper and turning it to ash.

It wasn't a revelation, not something she decided to admit to both of them for the first time. She delivered it as a cold fact, stoic and almost unfeeling in the sentimentality of it all. Except for the question, the desire for him to know out loud the affection he already knew she had for him.

He nodded.

"I do." He said.

A small breath, a sigh of relief, escaped her lips.

She stretched, knees tight by her chest as her legs rested on the dashboard. He flicked some ash out the partly rolled window, eyes on her as she relaxed.

"I know you do to." She said, "This isn't me asking you to say it or any of that. I just wanted to tell you I know. And I love you too."

She looked at him, serene. He believed her, every word. There was nothing she expecting from him, no standard he had to meet to prove his worth to her. Her hand rested on his lap, his own intertwining with hers as he soaked into it all.

He didn't have to tell her anything.

He wanted to though.

"How I feel 'bout ya ain't anythin' I felt before," he admitted to her, "Anythin' so strong that is."

She mused it over, "I get what you mean. I was thinking about it the other day. You know, I don't think I was ever in love before," she told him, "The other time I thought I was, but when I think of how I felt then to now it's the difference between hot and cold. You warm me Daryl, you warm me to the core."

It touched him. He knew the feeling. He had to clarify something though.

"Y'ain't sayin' that cos the bastard hurt ya."

She shook her head, "No, and that was hard to accept before. Whatever he and I had is child's play to how I feel for you." she said, "It would've been the same even if he hadn't hurt me."

That they'd never be sure of. The world what ifs and maybes was a useless one to dwell on. Still, he let himself believe her, because in that moment she believed those words and that was all the truth he needed to justify doing so.

He flicked the butt out the window, exhaled the remaining smoke and brought her hands to his lips. The delicate skin, chapped and sore kissed the knuckles of her dirtied ones. He had no ring to give her, no grand display to tell her how she became the sun his world revolved around, so he kissed her instead. It was as good as any promise he'd make to stay true to her, one he'd keep to himself forever.

She unlaced their fingers and brought her hand to his face, pulling him towards her in a languid kiss. He sunk into it, breathed it in as she danced with his tongue and nibbled against his mouth.

It was getting heavy. He broke it apart and rested his forehead on hers. They could continue this when they had space to move, there was no rush.

The look she gave him spoke otherwise. He cocked a brow.

"W'at?"

"I've got a condom."

His heart skipped a beat. He had to replay the words in his head.

"Why?"

She blushed, "I've been carrying it for a while now," she said, "Just in case."

Was she insinuating what he thought, hoped, feared she was insinuating.

"Now?" He asked her, "In the car?"

She smirked, "What?"

He shrugged, "Nothin', just, dontcha want a bed. Want to make it good for ya and-"

"Daryl, it'll be just as good in a bed as it would be here. And if this is your way of saying you want my first time after what happened to be some place familiar, fair enough, but it doesn't matter to me because all I want from you, is you."

She was always so blunt with her feelings for him. More so since they started being more intimate. He felt sick, fear and happiness bubbling in his stomach as he watched her look at him with such adoration and determination.

He kissed her sound before answering.

"The back o' a Dodge huh?" He said running a hand up her thigh, "Got some teen fantasy ya never got t' cross off ya bucket list?"

She smirked, "Who wouldn't want to have sex in this car?"

"Fair 'nough." He said, "Ya sure?"

She nodded, "I'm sure."

She crawled into the back seat as Daryl rolled up the window and locked the doors. She handed him his crossbow which he flung in the back when they got in the first time and he crawled back with her. She shed her clothes first, Daryl sat at the opposite side of where she was sat as she striped bare, putting her garments on the front seat.

He didn't remove his. She frowned. He smiled, real and true as he looked at how comfortable she'd grown with him. Her body, a body he'd seen naked on a frequent occasion now, welcomed the way his eyes worshipped her. He never leered or gawked, his baby blue eyes trailed down every bump, every discolouration, every bit of lagging skin that was starting to fill itself out again, with respect. He couldn't do anything but. Every time he saw her, clothed or unclothed, was like coming home.

"Ya beautiful."

That got her cheeks pink again. She shrugged, "You're beautiful." She said, "You're the most beautiful person I know."

He rolled his eyes, "Goin' keep spittin' that chic lit shit all day t' me?"

"Fuck off and get undressed already."

"Admirin' the view." He threw back, "Don' rush me."

Pinker, she felt exposed. Her head held itself a little higher as she spread her legs wider, her tuff of pubic hair glistened with fresh moisture. Her hands sat by it, fingers fluffing the curls as he felt his throat dry.

"Don't take them off just yet." She said instead, "I, I want to touch myself. In front of you."

He didn't know if it was a question, but it did stir his loins. He swallowed thick and leaned back, his own hands close to his prisoned genitals. He nodded, slow, eyes half open as he watched her fingers trail down to that coveted opening of hers.

This was exciting her. He added this act of voyerism on things he remembered turned her on. He sat and watched as her eyes were on his eyes, her dripping pussy coating her fingers in moorish delight. She brought a hand to her breast, tweaking and squeezing the erect nipple as her other hand did the same to her clit.

Soon her eyes were closed. Soon that hand that was working her glorious breasts was fingering the inside of her entrance. Daryl watched, hand palming himself through his jeans as she bit her lip and tried hard no to come undone as fast as she did. When she came, body arching forward, mouth parted in painful ecstasy, he was harder than he'd ever been ever.

He gave her little time to recover before scooting over to her, removing her fingers from inside of her and bringing them to his mouth. She opened her eyes as she watched him suck strong. Her taste was addictive, nothing striking about it but it indulged him to no end. He bent his head down and lapped it in a few slow licks, her post orgasmic body shuddering at the intensity of it.

He wanted this woman. He loved this woman. He had never wanted to be inside another person, to be so close, so joined with another person, before in his whole life.

She was breathing heavy. Her hands had found their way to his jacket, urging him to take it off. He complied, shucking his shirt, shoes and pants along with them. His erection stood in anticipation, ready.

"The condom's in my pack, by your foot." Her voice was breathy, tired.

He nodded. He opened the pack fast, his hand fisting inside it, searching for the wrapping. He found it in seconds, opened it and put it on. He looked at her, kissing her soft.

"Know it don' matter 'cos we're covered, but wanted t' tell ya ain't got anythin' catchable. I'm clean."

She looked at him and shrugged, "I'm clean to." She said, "George didn't do anything to me down there, and I know Oliver was clean. I'm clean too."

He was relieved. He just didn't like the idea of those assholes giving her something as well as hurting her like that. She kissed his forehead and brought a hand on his shaft, stroking it.

He hitched a breath, "Jesus." He let a noise out of his throat, "Won't last. Please stop."

She laughed, a smile kind and wide on her face. She kissed him again.

"We can take it as long as you like." She said, "I just want to be with you."

He nodded, shifting as she lay herself down. Her body sunk into the cushioned car seats, breasts weighed down and nippy as he adjusted himself above her. It was uncomfortable from this angle, his one leg on the floor, the other kneeled as he bent down to kiss her. He trailed his hands along her skin, caressing her with kisses and touches that she shivered against.

Her body wrapped against his, her hands anchoring his frame for the main event as her thighs bent and spread once more. He reached down and held himself at her entrance, the latex of the condom lubricated thick for her.

He looked at her, one last knowing look. She kissed him, before resting her gaze on his. Eyes locked on eyes, not once leaving as he pushed himself inside her leaking entrance.

It was tight, uncomfortably so for a millisecond, as the member rubbed against encompassing ribbed walls. Then he felt the heat. The warm, hot feeling, long forgotten since his last sexual encounter, surround his throbbing member. That feeling was enough to cement any of doubts he had of this lasting long. He was solid, inside of her, and he was suffocating in pleasure.

Then the haze of the entrance stilled as he saw pained features adjust to the impalement. He panicked then, did not dare move as he watched her remember the familiar sting of fullness. Quarter of a minute passed until she focused on him again, face flushed beneath him.

"Y'okay?"

She nodded, "Yeah." She said, "I'm okay."

He kept still. Another second passed between them. She smiled, small, reaching up to kiss him.

"You can move," she told him, "You're not hurting me."

It was a fear of his. She knew it. There was only one way to make this somewhat familiar, and he was going to do his damnest to make it as good for her as possible.

He pulled out again, slow. The slick clung onto him as the cool air meet the exposed skin. He thrusted back in the same pace, her face wincing a fraction as he did so. He kissed her, put his head by his ear, as he repeated the motions, slow and precise.

It felt nice, it wasn't mind blowing, but the novelty did please him. He kept at the pace, sucking on her earlobe as the grip on his back eased with each thrust. After a while, he spoke to her in breathy fragmented sentences.

"It feels good?"

Her response was affirmative, a whimpered yes. Her body was starting to buck up, the rhythm not quiet meeting his thrusts just yet. She moaned, soft and lazy, as he kissed beneath her earlobe, sucking hard and relentless.

"Daryl," she was whispering his name, sighs escaped her as his every thrust began to match her every rise. They were getting harder, the impact less gentle, "It's okay, please."

"Please w'at, Baby?" His voice was hoarse.

The pet name was new. He always felt stupid calling her stuff like that when they were finished, but it would just slip out. The shit ones too, 'baby', 'darling', he fucking call her 'love' one time and nearly died of shame then and there. She thought it was cute, she wasn't the type for a pet name but she told him his made her smile regardless. She looked at him, a flash of mischief spread on her face before being pushed down.

"Faster," she managed, "Please Daryl. Faster."

A long soft moan echoed deep from his throat. His control was teetering as the instinctive rutting kept on. Head inches from hers, forehead sweaty as he dropped his body on her slow, his weight pushing his penis deeper with every motion. He kissed her mouth, eyes hooded as his tongue danced along with hot opened kisses, as her movements became faster.

She wasn't shy at projecting how much she enjoyed this. They had to be so quiet back in the cabin, neither wanting to wake Judith and potentially scar her for life. Here, she was much more relaxed, she moaned free, not loud but loud enough for Daryl to know she felt good.

That he was making her feel good.

He sat himself up. One hand trailed away from her face to her heaving breasts, as the other wrapped her leg around his skinny waist. He pushed himself further, rutted aginast her faster as his eyes closed and his mouth began whimpering soft prayers of her name. He felt her hand rest on the hand on her breast, fingers clung against his before grasping his arm and pulling herself up.

He stopped, the movement taking him by surprise. She sat herself as straight, as she could manage, and his eyes fluttered open to see her head kissing light on the nape of his neck. He stayed still, hands traversing along her back and holding her close to him, face pressed into her hair as he inhaled her delicious scent.

It took the world to end for him to get this chance of happiness. Daryl wasn't one for words, he was no well spoken smooth talker, but God, he wished he was. He wished he could tell her everything he felt for her, everything she meant to him, everything she'd done for him.

He got soppy when they got intimate.

Now was no different.

He moved up, his hips lifted a fraction, moving slower than before but deeper than ever. She moved herself away from his neck and looked at him, pearls of sweat coating her skin like varnish, eyes that saw him like he saw her. One of them kissed the other soon after, he didn't know who, and he felt her hips move with his thrusts.

And he cradled her in his arms. Her own hands wrapped around his neck as they kissed. What started out as hard and fast slowed dramatically, more than he thought her body wanted. Still, this didn't feel like a movement of two bodies, it felt like a joining of souls.

This, somehow, was no longer sex. This was better. Holier.

She moaned, struggled, pained moans of trembling pleasure as they kept their pace. She cried between the movement of their mouths, his name never sounding sweeter than in this moment. She made his name sound precious, made him wish no one ever called him by his first name ever again, just her. He wished he could record the way his ears caught the delicious tones of her syllables as she whispered his name over and over and over again.

"Daryl,"

She was music.

"Daryl, yes, my Daryl."

He nearly came just then. He groaned thick, breaking their kisses and dropping his head to her breasts. He suckled on her, her head fell back, his hand supporting it as he sucked on her with fever. Her fingers tangled themselves between the ribbons of his hair, her breathing mixed with half sounded hitches as they moved. He sighed against her, his brows furrowed as the building pleasure ate against his core.

He lifted his head up and kissed her again. His pupils wide with lust and adoration for the woman on him.

"Don' think I'm gonna last."

Her hair was sticking to her face. They were still moving, but it almost felt like they had stopped. She smiled, tired but full, lips spread wide and loving.

She leaned her forehead on his.

"It's fine, darling, it's okay."

It wasn't okay, he wanted her to finish first, to enjoy it as much as she could. He loved this woman. He loved her.

"Wanna make ya feel good, baby." He said, "Only wanna make ya feel good."

"You do." She soothed, "You only do. You always do."

Perhaps this was heaven? Perhaps he had died and this was life on the other side? She was the light, an angel, a goddess.

"Never known how lonely I was 'til I found ya." he said, "Never knew how t' love proper before ya."

"Judith-"

"Ain't the same."

She held his head close to hers, planting a kiss against the nape of his neck. He was burying himself inside of her, "I love you Daryl. I love you."

That almost choked him. His fingers gripped on her as he pushed himself inside her. He had a few good thrusts in him left and he would be done.

She pushed herself down and rocked herself faster. He started growling in liberation, his orgasm inevitable and coming. Brooke lifted her head to kiss him hard, her own sounds playing against his.

His body jolted as he came. His eyes screwed shut, his mouth hung open and gasped out his bliss as he drowned in pleasure. It was all encompassing, his body was shaking because of Brooke, and when he was done he slumped against her. She stroked his hair as he caught his breath, his words escaping him before he could make sense of them.

"'Mazin'. Fuck." He blubbered, "Love ya so much."

He heard her laughing. His eyes opened, he didn't know they were still closed. He forced himself to lift his head.

She was flushed, her skin pink and patchy from the activity. She was breathing heavy, her face smirking as her chest rose and fell in quick successions. He felt his eyes droop as he looked at her, his own face going red at his latest display of affection.

"Should do that more often," she teased, "You're nicer."

He looked down. She stopped his head from turning away and held it in her hands. She brought him forward for a kiss, smiling against him.

"Ya didn' finish."

She shrugged, "Not important."

He looked at her. She tried to shimmy off of his softened cock. He stopped her.

She frowned, "What?"

"Let me finish ya off." He said.

She blushed. It was his turn to smirk. He didn't know why she got all embarrassed, it wasn't like he hadn't don't it to her before.

"If you want."

"If I want? If I'm honest I wanna sleep. It's if ya want."

She rolled her eyes, "Well I don't mind." She said, "You can sleep if you like, it's fine."

He eyed her. She was too shy to ask for it. She got like this from time to time, mostly after moments when they were extremely intimate with one another.

He kissed her soft and dropped his hand by her thigh. She tensed as he found her swollen nub, his fingers slick with her leaking juices. She took in a sharp breath, her body a sensitive rod of pleasure.

His other hand held her close, "Like makin' ya feel good." He said, "Want ya t' feel good."

She looked down, away from him. He titled her head up, stilling himself as he saw her eyes dewy and red. Panic bloomed from his features and he almost pushed himself away if it weren't for her grip on him.

"What's wrong?"

She smiled meekly, "Nothing," she said, "Absolutely nothing."

"Brooke?" His hands reached up to cup her face, "Ya upset."

She shook her head, hands meeting with his on her face. She took a shaky breath and swallowed it down thick.

"Sorry, it's not you don't worry, or this," she closed her eyes, "I'm not upset either, honest. Just, for a long time I thought that I'd never be able to do anything like this again, and I just did —*we* just did, and it was, God Daryl, I've never done it like this before. It's never felt like this ever, and I guess I'm happy that you did this to me. No one ever made me feel what you make me feel, and I'm thankful. That's all, I'm just thankful, and I'm being a baby about it."

"Thankful?"

"Thankful to you, for making me believe that this can really feel good." She tried to explain, "Thankful that you made me believe I can feel like this again."

He closed the gap between them into another embrace. Long, tight, his body a blanket for her insecurities. The parts of her that were so warped by her perception of herself, by the trauma she endured, by the sacrifices she made. Sure, he couldn't, wouldn't, say he understood every facet of her life from a personal level. This though, this declaration of thanks, this was more than a proclamation of sexual gratification or of love.

This was gratitude for his respect for her. For that he could relate. Respect was something they both had stripped from their lives in the past.

She was stroking his back, breathing slowed as they just held each other. She spoke, voice lazy, soft almost, with the slight hoarseness of emotion in her tone.

"I'd rather do this than have you jerk me off."

He smiled, smirked more like, as he rolled his eyes.

"Gotta way of endin' a moment."

There was a faint ripple of a laugh made whilst her lips were against his skin, "Yeah well, subtly isn't my strongest suit."

He felt his anxiety prickle within, "Ya sure this is okay? Know it finished quick, Don' mind-"

"I'm sure."

"Ya mind if we move then?"

She looked at him and smirked, "And you say I'm ruining the moment?"

"Damn it girl, let me get outta ya at least. Startin' ta hurt."

She laughed and slid off. He pushed her down with a kiss and lay his head on her stomach. She giggled, damn squeaked on the way down, as he lay them on the stretched car seat. She stroked his hair, his eyes half closed and ready for sleep.

"How long did you take fixing this car up?"

He didn't bother opening his eyes. They were closed all the way now.

"Couple o' weeks. Found it with Justin. He an' Mike helped but did most o' it myself."

"I can imagine, they're awful with cars."

"Was thinkin' of bringin' ya sooner, work on it with ya."

"That would've been fun," she said, "But I don't think you'd have liked having me work on it with you."

He twisted his head to get a better look at her and opened his eyes. She cocked a brow, face mischievous. She was setting them up for an argument they'd had before, one he knew she enjoyed.

"Know more 'bout cars. Just accept it."

"You know about the same amount as me."

"Bullshit, been here for longer. Seen more engines in my lifetime than you've got years on ya."

"Same here."

He grunted, "Glad I didn' fix it with ya. Can hear the naggin' now. 'Daryl, ya check the carborator? Daryl, gonna need somethin' to pump the tyres. Daryl, ya can't hotwire a Civic."

"You _can't_ hotwire a Civic."

"Ya can, if it's old enough."

"Don't go talking about that when you're the one that nearly turned us into an all you can eat walker buffet."

"Fuck up once and ya bite me in the ass for it. Glad I didn' getcha to help me out, wouldn't hear the end o' it."

She was grinning. She was grinning so wide the sides of her mouth wrinkled.

"You're so full of shit."

"Ain' hold a candle t' ya."

"Also, I don't sound like that. That was a horrible impression of me."

"Was accurate. Ya sound just as annoyin' in real life."

She ruffled his hair. His smirk didn't falter and he kissed her above her navel. She kept petting his head.

"It was a nice surprise."

A hand traced circles on a precious area of skin as he answered her. He would lavish this body all day if he could. He'd never get bored.

He got up, body bent from the lack of space and leaned over to the front of the car. She sat up, curious. He reached over to the glove compartment and clicked it open.

He grabbed a package wrapped light in a white plastic bag and flopped it on her lap before sitting opposite her. She frowned, fingers eager to shed the material and reveal the objects.

It was a Justin Bieber CD.

It was _two_ Jusitn Bieber CDs.

She broke out into a laugh.

"You didn't."

"Don' say I never did nothin' for ya."

"Oh my God," she shook her head, "I can't believe you got this?"

"Looked stupid grabbin' it too. Fuckin' Keegan thinks I'm some hard core fan or some shit. Keeps singin' t' me when he passes me at camp."

"Daryl I cannot believe you got this. This is hilarious."

"No it's stupid. 'S for your ears only, Don' wanna have t' hear Judy screamin' that shit from the top o' her lungs."

"I don't know, she's still loving that Backstreet Boys CD I got her the other day."

"And she's gonna keep lovin' it. Listened to some of this crap, wanted to know if it's as shit as I remember. Fuckin' awful, he sounds like a little bitch."

"Hater's gonna hate."

"Wouldn' make nobody listen to that, not even someone I hated."

"I love him Daryl. Love him."

"Know he's out there chewin' some poor bastard's brains for lunch, right?"

"I think your jealous of his perfection."

He shook his head, "Ya animal lovin', fur hatin' Bieber bummin' ass can say whatcha like, but I ain' ever goin' be jealous o' him."

She kissed him. He blinked, it was unexpected. When she was done she smiled at him and began to thank him properly.

"You make me laugh."

He always wanted to do that.

He shrugged, "Yeah, well, ya make me whole."

She looked at him, smiling like a fucking idiot and hugged him again. He let her, not like he'd fight her off of him. He'd never miss a chance to be close to her, not as long as his body still bled warm.

They spent most of the day in the Dodge. When they were back home she pounced on him again. He ravished her, pure and honest, and he revelled in how willing she was to become undone for him. He left to her to relax before bringing Judith home and playing the new CDs on Brooke's request.

To his horror Judith adored them.

She and Brooke sang along to all of it.

It was terrible.

Later that night he reflected back. Child fed and sleeping sound, Brooke curled beside him, her body in a deep slumber. He thought about it all from the beginning —his life, the onset of the end of the world, meeting his first family, losing his blood family, then getting his real one. He thought about it all in as much detail as his memory would allow.

He only drew one conclusion.

In retrospect he wasn't the fathering type. He wasn't the loving type either. Upon reflection, arms wrapped around the woman he loved, their daughter besides them, he realized just how wrong about himself he was.

He'd never felt happier for it.

* * *

 **AN:**

Yep.

Yep it's over.

Don't mind me, just crying over here.

You have all been so wonderful to me, and honestly I couldn't have asked for such a wonderful readership. If any of you guys are on tumblr look me up! My url is on my profile, and I'd love to follow you! I enjoy talking to people of the fandom, lol.

A sequel for this is on the table, but it's depends on whether I have time to write it, so basically this may not be the end but this is the end for now.

Sorry, I'm really awful at letting go.

Again, you are all so brilliant.

Going to leave now.

Peace.

❤️❤️❤️

AKJSNA


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